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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166256">Hella Strange</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnBCreap/pseuds/EnBCreap'>EnBCreap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Life Is Strange (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, Chloe-centric - Freeform, Coma, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/F, Gen, I crave approval, I'm Bad At Tagging, Maxine "Max" Caulfield Loses Her Powers, Memory Loss, Shit is weird, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>86,900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnBCreap/pseuds/EnBCreap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe Price wakes up in the cemetery with the mother of all hangovers, her possessions missing and no memory of the night before.</p><p>Unfortunately, that's going to be the most normal thing that happens to her today.</p><p>AU (obviously), the exact details of which will be elaborated on throughout this work. Content warnings for: drugs, alcohol, death, date rape (mention only), amnesia, grief, depression, anxiety. More might be added as the work continues. If you think there should be one that isn't there, tell me.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Rachel Amber/Chloe Price, Victoria Chase/Kate Marsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The girl wakes up to the sound of the dawn chorus. Finches and sparrows and chickadees all compete to be heard from the shady trees above her head as the sun rises. A gentle breeze blows a few loose strands of bright blue hair across her face to tickle her nose while the morning comes in crisp and cool. She opens her eyes to a pale orange sky banded by light grey clouds. For just a moment, she’s taken by the beauty of the sunrise. Max would love this, she thinks, before thinking becomes too painful. Her head throbs viciously, her skull seeming to squeeze her brain like a steel vice. The weak light filtering through the clouds stings her eyes, and as she slowly becomes more awake and more aware, she realises how much every inch of her body hurts, skin prickling, every joint aching, every muscle tight and full of cramp. Her throat feels like someone’s tried to park a car in it.</p><p>“Fuck…” she groans, the expletive coming out hoarse and strained through cracked sandpaper lips as she gets her elbow underneath her and pushes herself, with no small effort, into a position between lying down and sitting. She should probably get out of bed, drink some water to cool her throat down and try to figure out what the hell she did last night to end up feeling like this.</p><p>It’s then that she realises she’s not in bed. Not her bed, nor anyone else’s. Instead, she’s laid out in the open on a hard wooden bench. Judging by the pain in her back and neck, she’s been here all night. <em>Great</em>, she thinks. After the week – no, the months, the years, really – she’s had, this is all she needs.  Waking up in the cold, on a bench, everything hurting so bad she’s halfway praying for death and…oh, <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>Wherever she went last night, whatever she did, whatever she drank or smoked or popped or snorted, somehow, she’s ended up the fucking cemetery.</p><p><em>This is a new low</em>, says the little voice in her head as she pulls herself up to sit and takes in her surroundings. Definitely the cemetery, deserted at this time of the morning, gates locked. Did she get wasted last night and decide to sneak in to visit Dad again? It’s been over a year since the last time she did that. She thought she was over that whole episode now, but judging by the hangover and waking up in a goddamn graveyard, apparently not. She hopes she at least had a nice talk with him before passing out. And, as long as she’s being grateful for the little things, she’s glad she made it to the bench this time. If there’s one thing that could make this worse, it would be waking up like the last time she came here at night, curled up on the damp grass by his headstone again.</p><p>The tiny spark of relief she feels quickly peters out when she tries to remember the chain of no doubt completely fucked up events that led her here. She can’t remember a thing. Ordinarily that wouldn’t worry her too much. Nothing too unusual about losing a few hours of a hardcore night. It worries her now because it’s not just a few hours towards the end of the night she’s forgotten. The whole evening has totally vanished from her memory. She tries as hard as she can with her head still pounding to think, to remember something, anything. Who she was with, where she was before she got here, how much she had to drink or what else she might have gotten wrecked on. Nothing comes to mind.</p><p><em>Check your phone, dumbass, </em>her internal monologue pipes up again. <em>Oh, yeah, of course, </em>she responds to herself and goes for the inside pocket of her black leather jacket. It’s empty. Same goes for her jeans. Anxiety slowly picking up through the general fog in her head, she pulls out the neck of her black t-shirt to check if her phone is in her bra, then reaches down in the fleeting hope that she might have shoved it in her boot for safekeeping – two of the more unusual places Drunk Chloe has left her phone before. No luck. No phone, no keys, no wallet, nothing. All her pockets are empty. At some point during the night she has no memory of, she’s somehow managed to lose all her stuff. Or – anger now makes an appearance – some motherfucker has robbed her while she lay sleeping.</p><p>Oh, God. This is bad. Waking up here was bad enough. Not remembering a single solitary thing was worse. On top of it all, she’s got nothing to her name but the clothes on her back and a headache that feels, no bullshit, like she’s been shot.</p><p>What if someone spiked her last night, wherever she was? Roofies. Ket, sleeping pills, whatever, somebody slipped her something while she wasn’t looking and dumped her here after going through her pockets. <em>Fuck</em>. Nausea. Cold sweats breaking out down her spine. What if she’s been…<em>oh, god, please, no…</em></p><p>No. She hasn’t. She’s sure of it. There’s no pain down there, or no more than in any other part of her body, and when she unbuttons her pants to check herself – not the most dignified thing she’s ever done, but the place is deserted, so she’s in no danger of being seen – she finds herself clean.</p><p>So, thank God, she hasn’t been – it’s okay, she can think the word now that she knows it hasn’t happened – raped. Does that mean she wasn’t robbed either? Seems a little weird that whoever would be enough of a scumbag to go through a passed-out girl’s pockets would have the ‘respect’ not to take further advantage of her. If that’s true, then she’s to blame for the disappearance of her phone. <em>Bravo, Price. You’ve officially lost all your shit</em>.</p><p>She knows she has to get out of here. Preferably before anyone finds her. Coming home in this state with all her possessions missing would be one thing for Drill Sergeant Mustache to yell and berate her for. Getting picked up by the cops for breaking into the cemetery after hours and returning home in the back of a cruiser would be another level of shit entirely. On some level she’s tempted to stay put and let somebody find her, just to see the look on his stupid face when the police drop her off. But, on the other hand, it’s a cold morning and she’s freezing her ass off. Probably lucky not to have pneumonia already. No, time to go. She can sort out getting her stuff replaced later. For now, she just wants to take a shower, get clean and feel warm for a bit. Her outer clothes are filthy, not just messed up like might be expected in a morning-after situation, but <em>filthy. </em>Her pants, the sleeves of her jacket, even her hands are streaked with mud. She reeks, too. Did she take a nap in a compost heap before winding up here?</p><p>She groans non-verbally as she gets her shaking legs underneath her and finally picks herself up off the bench, to her feet. Then her stomach lurches as the sudden change of position hits her accompanied by a wave of punishing sickness. She staggers forward a few steps, drops to her knees. Her body folds up, mouth open, retching right from the bottom of her stomach.</p><p>Nothing comes out. No splatter of hot bile on the grass. Just pain, spasming abdominal muscles and renewed soreness ripping through her scratchy throat. <em>Serves you right for getting wasted on an empty stomach. Idiot. </em>Mind swimming, body aching even worse than before, if that’s possible, she falls to her side, spluttering and shivering as it comes to her.</p><p>Oh, God. Oh, <em>Jesus. </em>Fuck.</p><p>She was at Blackwell last night. With Max, at that shitty Vortex Club party. They were after something. No, someone.</p><p>Nathan. The stuck-up little billionaire prick, the bizzaro world Bruce Wayne, the piece of shit, motherfucker, dickhead, murdering asshole who killed Rachel, who drove that church girl, whatever her name is – in all the amnesia, it’s slipped her mind – to almost kill herself. Nathan Motherfucking Prescott.</p><p>Did they get him? Is that how she ended up here: a little well-earned celebration after Super-Max’s victory over the forces of evil, just getting out of hand as celebrations often did? If only she had her fucking phone, she could call Max right now and find out.</p><p>Unless they didn’t beat the bad guys after all, and she ran off like a coward to drown her sorrows. Equally plausible, all things considered.  Max could be anywhere. Max could be…no, she won’t think that now. Max is safe. She has to be. Her superpowers would save her. Pity they couldn’t also save Chloe from whatever the sweet fuck happened to leave her as she now finds herself.</p><p>Several minutes pass before she feels strong enough to move. Slowly and carefully, she stands up, putting her arms out like a tightrope walker to balance herself until she’s sure her legs are steady enough to walk on. Then, she wipes the drool from her chapped lips on the back of her dirty hand and sets off down the path that leads to the big gates.</p><p>She doesn’t look around her as she goes. She keeps her eyes forward, her mind focused as much as she can right now on walking straight. If she remembers right, one of the railings in the fence near the gate is missing, a fault that the city never seems to get around to fixing. She can slip out and be on her way home without anyone knowing she was ever here. No more trouble for her, not today. Just a hot shower and few hours real sleep in her bed, if she can handle the long walk home.</p><p>The railing is still missing. <em>Score. </em>She grips the cold metal of the next rail along to steady herself as she climbs through the gap and wonders if this is the way she got in last night. Must have been. Out of the cemetery. Home free.</p><p>As she walks down the quiet street and back towards the main part of the town, a smell of cigarette smoke hits her nose. God, she’d love a smoke right about now. Might perk her up a little, or at least stop her mouth tasting like stale ass. She follows her sense of smell to see an older lady waiting at the bus stop across the road. Leather jacket, high boots, faded jeans, dyed red hair fading to its natural grey. Not a bad look, Chloe thinks. If she looks like that in forty years, she’ll be pretty happy about it.</p><p>She crosses the road to the ageing rock chick and thinks she catches her eye, though the woman tries not to look. Probably thinks she’s crazy, which is fair considering that she looks like she’s just crawled out of the grave like some day-walking vampire. Never mind how she looks now. The first cigarette of the day is at stake here.</p><p>“Excuse me, miss?” Chloe calls out, trying to sound as though she hasn’t been gargling sand and razor blades. <em>Too polite. Creepy. Tone it down. </em>“You got a spare smoke? Please?”</p><p>The red-grey-haired woman regards her suspiciously for a second. Clearly, she’s taken aback at being approached and, instinctually, doesn’t want to honour any request from a pale, dirty, shivering girl dressed all in black. Chloe’s not sure what makes her relent. Pity, maybe. Or curiosity. Fear? Doesn’t matter.</p><p>“Sure,” she says, offering the pack and a yellow plastic lighter.</p><p>“Thank you,” Chloe says, absurdly grateful for this stranger’s small kindness as she lights up and inhales deeply. Oh, <em>fuck</em>, that’s good. Sweet, life-affirming nicotine seeping into her bloodstream. She tries her best not to actually moan with pleasure as she lets out the first lungful in the still air. Her cigarette saviour already looks freaked enough.</p><p>“You look like hell, honey,” the woman says with a cross between concern and intrigue.</p><p>“Feel like it,” Chloe says, taking another drag and feeling the woman’s eyes on her.</p><p>“Want some water?” she says.</p><p>“Oh, my God,” a tired smile pulls at Chloe’s dry lips. “You’re, like, my hero right now.”</p><p>“You’re most welcome, sugar,” says the woman as she fishes a bottle from her purse and hands it to Chloe, who unscrews the cap and drinks down half the bottle in one, drawing another curious look. Chloe wipes her mouth and brings her cigarette back to her lips.</p><p>“Do I know you from somewhere?” says the cigarette-water-angel lady. “I’m sure I’ve seen your face but, I’m sorry, I just can’t think of your name.”</p><p>“Nah,” Chloe shakes her head.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“If you knew me, you’d remember me,” Chloe smirks, in spite of her tiredness, in spite of the pain still coursing through her body and the blood she tastes when her lips crack. The redhead chuckles warmly.</p><p>“That I don’t doubt,” she says, finishing her cigarette and dropping it to the ground just in time to see the city bus pulling up. “Keep the water, honey. Be well.”</p><p>Chloe watches her go, a little touched by her kindness. There is some good in the world, if you look in the right places. The way she spoke reminds Chloe of her mom.</p><p>Who’s probably worried absolutely sick about her daughter right now. <em>Shit</em>. She needs to get home, if only to stop Mom from bugging out completely and doing something crazy, like calling the cops or reporting her missing, if she hasn’t already. Why, <em>why </em>did she have to lose her fucking phone?</p><p>She tosses the end of her cigarette into the road. Feeling a little better, a little more alive for her first nicotine fix of the day, she resumes walking. The streets are all but deserted this time of the morning, with just a few people catching early buses or walking to work. She’s thankful for that. Normally, she doesn’t give a shit what people think of her, least of all strangers, but normally she’s not covered in mud or looking half-dead.</p><p>She walks, and she walks some more, stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other as her muscles beg her to just stop for a moment, sit down and take a rest. She can rest when she’s home and sure that nothing too terrible has happened in the time she can’t account for.</p><p>Without her phone to check the time, she’s not sure how long the walk home takes her. She doesn’t care. It’s not as though she can get any more tired or achy, no matter how long she walks. Eventually, the blue house comes in sight, and it’s like a shot of gentle energy directly to her heart. Almost there. Just a few more steps, then she can get clean and warm and deal with whatever’s happened, whatever she’s done.</p><p>Oh, shit. No keys. She’ll have to knock and come face to face with whoever’s home. Oh, <em>triple shit. </em>Standing outside the garage, sleeves rolled up, bucket in hand, David Dickhead is getting ready to wash his stupid muscle car.</p><p>Running into Mom when she comes home after a heavy night normally isn’t so bad. Over the past few years they’ve come to an understanding. Joyce will let Chloe shower and feel sorry for herself for a while before she gets into the lectures and disappointment. David is less patient. Well, fuck it. She’ll have to deal, just for this morning. Unless, maybe, <em>please, God</em>, he’s left the front door unlocked and is so engrossed in the cleaning of his shiny blue penis substitute that she’ll be able to slip past him.</p><p>No. He’s seen her. Crap. Wearily, she stops in her tracks. No sense in walking away before he’s even had a chance to yell at her, making the whole situation worse when he finally does get the chance.</p><p>He’s not yelling, though. He’s not even speaking. That look on his face is not the scowl she’s familiar with. It’s an expression she’s more used to seeing on Max’s face, when she sees it at all. Wordless, breathless, fathomless confusion. <em>Why?</em> The bucket slips from his hand and clatters noisily on the asphalt, soaking his shoes with a mini tidal wave of soapy water. He doesn’t even seem to notice. A long moment goes by as they stand ten feet apart, staring in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.</p><p>“Chloe,” he says at last, in a tone devoid of all feeling.</p><p>“David,” she croaks. “Can you let me in? I lost my keys.”</p><p>Silence again. That’s disturbing. It’s not like him to miss an opportunity to scold her, least of all when she might have actually done something to deserve it. What the hell is going through his head right now?</p><p>“Of course,” he snaps to action, going for the front door with such sudden speed it unnerves her a little, his bucket forgotten. She follows him hesitantly as he opens the door. “Come in.”</p><p>She steps over the threshold and into the house. The hall, no, the whole place is neater than she’s seen it in months. Mom must have been stress-cleaning. Chloe’s almost glad she’s not here right now. If she saw them in her pristine house like this – Chloe covered in mud, David’s shoes leaving wet footprints on the hall carpet – she’d probably have a seizure.</p><p>He’s a few feet in front of her, still watching her with that look on his face. It quickly becomes clear he’s not going to say anything until she does. It’s one of his tricks. Give her enough rope to hang herself, or something like that. Fuck it. She’ll fall for it.</p><p>“Can I take a shower?” she says, hoarse and strained. He nods and takes a step to the side so she can get to the stairs, and watches her go in silence. <em>This is so fucking strange.</em></p><p>She doesn’t bother going to her room for clean clothes. Nothing matters but getting her ass in that shower. Everything else can wait until she’s warm and clean. It feels like she hasn’t been properly warm in forever. She leaves her jacket at the top of the stairs, puddled on the floor, and steps into the bathroom already pulling her t-shirt over her head. As she waits for the water to heat up, she actually shuts her eyes and shivers in anticipation of how good this is going to feel.</p><p>It’s better than she imagined. Hot water washing over cold skin, changing pallid frozen white to rosy pink as she lathers up and scrubs the dirt from her hands, her arms, her knees, her <em>hair</em>, and then just stands under the water, eyes closed, for as long as it takes her to feel a bit more human. By the time she’s done, the bathroom is so steamy she has to wait for it to clear up before she can even find a towel to wrap around herself.</p><p>She clears a little patch on the fogged-up mirror with her hand to take a look at her face. She looks <em>rough</em>. Almost ghostly. She’s always been pale, blame her dad’s ginger genes, but when did she get so thin, and when did those big dark circles appear under her eyes?</p><p> There’ll be time to worry about her appearance later, she thinks as she tears her tired eyes away from her reflection. For now, she’s got to get dressed, go downstairs and answer to Step-Dick. Why Mom ever let him in the house, she still doesn’t know.</p><p>Wait. Mom kicked David out, just the other day. She remembers. Yet here he is, washing his mid-life crisis-mobile in the drive without a care in the world until Chloe showed up. Is all this, him being patient, quiet, nice, all the things he normally isn’t, a condition of him being allowed back? Or did he just get a lobotomy?</p><p>Her clean clothes are already outside the bathroom door, folded up neatly on the floor. Hoodie, warm sweatpants, underwear. David must have left them. She’s so shocked at the kind gesture, she forgets to be angry that he’s been in her room. Seriously, has he had a really bad head injury? She dresses as quickly as she can with her hands still a little numb from the cold she slept in. The door to her room sits across the landing. She can almost hear her soft bed calling out to her, begging her to come rest her aching muscles and weary mind. She passes by the door on her way to the stairs. <em>Sorry, bed. Be seeing you soon.</em></p><p>The carpet is scratchy under her bare feet as she makes her way to the living room, avoiding the wet patches left in the hall by David’s shoes and the mud from her boots. The old green couch, she notices, has been turned so its back is now against the wall that separates the living room from the laundry room that doubles as David’s office, study, creepy surveillance room, whatever. Moving the furniture around is another thing Mom sometimes does in times of stress.</p><p><em>This is bad, </em>her mind whispers. <em>What the hell have you done?</em></p><p>David comes out of the kitchen to set a mug down on the coffee table in front of her. He watches her as she reaches out to wrap her hands around it and takes a long step back, like he’s trying not to get too close in case she attacks him. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered it before, and he probably knows it, but he’s never actually acted like she might lash out at any moment. <em>Bad.</em></p><p>“I’ve called your mom,” he says. She nods mutely. He continues. “She’s on her way home. Max is coming, too. Won’t be long.”</p><p><em>Shit</em>. <em>Max.</em></p><p>“Don’t,” she tries to say, but all she manages is a strangled little rasping noise.</p><p>“Drink your coffee,” his voice is low and composed, a clear sign of danger.</p><p>“Don’t bring Max into this!” she blurts out, her voice stronger as indignation and anger cut through the fog. “Whatever happened, whatever I’ve done, don’t bring her into our bullshit!”</p><p>Silence. Long, drawn-out, filling the room until the atmosphere is so thick she can almost see it, like a haze. David stands still and straight, looking as if he’s never seen her before, or he’s just seeing her clearly now, for the first time, like whatever she did last night has changed her forever in his eyes.</p><p>“You don’t remember, do you?”</p><p>“I don’t remember a fucking thing!” she’s shouting. She wants to stand, get in his face, really yell at him, but she knows it won’t do any good, and she’s not sure her legs would support her if she tried. Her voice threatens to break as she forces herself to go on, her throat screaming in protest. “I woke up in the graveyard, and I can’t remember how I got there, or what I did, or anything! I just…”</p><p>Her voice finally cracks. Tears sting her eyes and it’s all she can do not to break down completely, curl up sobbing under his dark, unflinching gaze as he refuses to shout back at her. She swallows hard, ignoring the pain it causes.</p><p>“I fucked up, didn’t I?” she says.</p><p>“I…” he sighs, brings a hand up to his face. “Chloe, your mom’s gonna be here soon. I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking Jesus God shit motherfucker, what the fuck have you done this time, you fucking psycho?</em>
</p><p>“Please,” she chokes out.</p><p>
  <em>You’ve finally done it. Killed someone. Burned down the school. Gone on a bender, stole a bulldozer, wrecked half the town. Dug up your dad.</em>
</p><p>David takes his hand away from his mouth. Sighs again. Something’s wrong, worse than she could possibly imagine, so bad that the struggle to even say it is written in every line of his face. <em>Just say it</em>, she begs silently. <em>Just tell me what I’ve done.</em></p><p>“Chloe,” he shuts his eyes for a second and breathes out heavily through his nose, gearing himself up to finally get it out. “You got shot. You’ve been in a coma for almost two months.</p><p>Whatever she was expecting him to say, whatever she feared he might say, this is not it. This is…so much stranger. He’s still talking, words just about reaching her ears as she tries her hardest to process what she’s heard.</p><p>“Nobody told us you were back. The doctors were saying that if you hadn’t woken up sooner, you…you probably weren’t going to. But…well, here you are, I guess.”</p><p>Yep. Here she is. Alive and kicking and somehow…<em>wait, what the fuck? Two months?</em></p><p>The front door clunks open. David falls silent again at the sound of footsteps in the hall.</p><p>Mom’s voice: “David, what the hell have you done to my hall?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. She's Back.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her room is almost exactly as she left it, only quite a lot cleaner – when Joyce Madsen gets into her stress-cleaning, she doesn’t leave a room untouched. Her bed feels a bit colder and harder for not having been slept in while she’s been out of it, but overall her little bit of space is basically the same, just like everything else, except for maybe Chloe herself. She feels different, somehow. Not massively, but enough to notice something new in herself, and enough to wonder if other people are going to notice when she starts getting back out into the world.</p>
<p>For now, that can wait. She’s back home and for the first time in a long time, it’s actually nice to be here, now that Mom’s stopped crying and hugging her every few minutes and Max has regained the power of speech. After dinner, Max and Chloe excuse themselves and head upstairs for a little time alone together. Chloe wants to know everything she’s missed. Max is happy to tell her. Actually, maybe happy’s the wrong word, but she’s certainly willing, diving into all the events of the past month-and-a-half, stopping for breath several times throughout. Chloe sits and listens in silence until she’s sure Max is done, at which point she flops back on her bed, staring straight up at the ceiling, taking a moment to put her response together.</p>
<p>“Goddamn,” she finally says.</p>
<p>“I know it’s a lot,” Max says gently, her hand coming to rest on Chloe’s knee. “I just…I just can’t believe it. You’re here.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Chloe nods. It’s hard to think of what to say or do right now. Her brain feels slower than normal. That has to be normal for waking up from a coma, right? She should feel lucky that it’s just a little sluggishness. <em>It’ll pass, </em>she tells herself as she wills her body back up to a seated position and covers Max’s hand with her own.</p>
<p>“I’m…” Max stutters, like she’s been doing all day. For the first two hours back in the house, she barely said a word. “I’m so happy you’re back.”</p>
<p>“So you keep saying,” Chloe takes care to keep her tone light as she moves in closer to wrap her arms around her best friend. <em>She’s so skinny</em>, she thinks. Max has always been small, but now that they’re close and she’s shrugged off her grey hoodie, Chloe realises that her friend has actually gotten smaller. When she rests a hand comfortingly on Max’s side, she can feel her ribs through her t-shirt. Her face is thinner than it used to be, too, and the bags under her eyes are heavy and dark. She wonders if Max has been eating or sleeping properly since that night in October. She doubts it, but now’s not the time to press Max about how little care she’s been taking of herself. So instead, she just holds her for a while in silence and tries to remember everything she’s been told.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Nathan Prescott who shot her and left her for dead. None of it was Nathan. Not alone, anyway. It was Mark Jefferson, Blackwell teacher, celebrity photographer and, apparently, some kind of next-level psycho who’s been carrying out this sick practice of drugging young girls and taking gross pictures of them half-conscious in his underground doomsday bunker – or the Dark Room, as it’s being called now – for over ten years, until he finally got a bit too comfortable and left a trail that led Max and Chloe, and then David, right to him. Naturally, he’s in prison now, where he belongs, but not before dragging Max and some other Blackwell girl into his project. Chloe’s seen the articles in the old newspapers that David hoards. The other girl isn’t named, and neither’s Max, but Chloe is.</p>
<p>
  <em>Chloe Price, 19, was found shot in the American Rust junkyard late on Thursday night and transported to Arcadia Bay medical center. Miss Price, a former Blackwell student, is reported to be comatose and in critical condition.</em>
</p>
<p>  Critical doesn’t even begin to cover it. She died. David told her, since Mom couldn’t quite get the words out. For two minutes, on the operating table at the hospital, Chloe was dead. And even after they brought her back, she wasn’t far off dying all over again. When she thinks about it, she feels numb. It worries her. Shouldn’t she be more grateful for being alive?</p>
<p>They sat with her all through it. Mom, David, Max; one of them was by her bed at all times, except for a few nights in November when Max got really sick and Justin, of all people, filled in for her on the night shift. She’ll have to pay him back for that. Thankfully, he’s an easy guy to buy for. An eighth should just about cover it. She’ll go see Frank when she can – Max has assured her he’s still around, though he’s scaled his operation back a bit in the wake of everything that’s gone down.</p>
<p>“Hey, Max?” she whispers in her friend’s ear as something comes to mind.</p>
<p>“Mm?” Max looks up, a few tears lingering in her eyes and on her freckled cheeks.</p>
<p>“Where were you last night? I woke up last night and just walked out, I guess. I don’t remember leaving, but if you were with me every night, you would have noticed that, right?”</p>
<p>Max hugs her tighter, burying her face in Chloe’s chest. Not an answer. Fuck it, it’s been an emotional day, she gets a pass. For now. Chloe’s still going to want that answered eventually. They stay like that for a few long minutes, curled up, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max quietly crying happy tears while Chloe silently mulls over everything she’s been told.</p>
<p>Surprisingly, or maybe not, it’s the little things that really interest her. They’ve got a dog now, a little black and white mutt called Trooper – Chloe senses David’s influence there – who’s currently at the vet after getting clipped by the neighbours’ car yesterday morning, but will be okay. Chloe can’t wait to meet him. David’s back working at Blackwell, currently on suspension after flipping out on a couple of students, going, in Max’s words, Full Metal Jacket over some stupid dude fight in the cafeteria. Mom’s started smoking again after almost six years. Understandable, given the stress she must have been under. Max smokes now, too. Maybe that’s what she’s been doing instead of sleeping or eating. She <em>was </em>going to head up to see her parents in Seattle in just a few days, but now Chloe’s back, she might have to cancel so they can spend some time together. Chloe likes the sound of that. Maybe – she smirks – she might dare Max to kiss her again.</p>
<p>That kiss hasn’t left her mind since Max walked into the house this morning. She almost wishes it would; it might be easier to talk to Max if she wasn’t constantly thinking about their lips locked, bodies pressed together, only for a second but still enough to leave her wanting more. Perhaps if she hadn’t, you know, almost died, some of those distracting fantasies might already have come true.</p>
<p><em>Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself, </em>her mind’s voice cuts in before her thoughts really have a chance to go there. If she remembers right, less than forty-eight hours – real time, anyway, not considering any time-fuckery Max might have done – passed between their first and so far, only kiss and Chloe taking that bullet in the junkyard. Now she’s awake, it might be an idea to take things slowly, at least while they’re still coming to terms with so much.</p>
<p>A knock at the door pulls Chloe out of her daydreaming.</p>
<p>“Come in,” she calls. Her voice is still a little hoarse, even after drinking a shitload of water. Her mom steps around the door, a white plastic grocery bag in her hand.</p>
<p>“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Joyce says with a smile. She crosses the room to the bed, where she sets her bag down and takes advantage of her two free hands to hug Chloe for approximately the five thousandth time today. “<em>My baby,</em>” she whispers into Chloe’s hair.</p>
<p>“How many more times, Mom?” Chloe says, frustration and embarrassment rising up as Max wriggles away from an awkward group hug situation.</p>
<p>“After all this, probably about nine or ten times a day until you go to college,” she squeezes Chloe’s shoulders once more before releasing her.</p>
<p>“What’s all this?” Chloe gestures to the bag in front of her.</p>
<p>“We just went to the hospital,” she says. “We were kind of hoping to figure out how you managed to go from there straight to showing up here and scaring the crap out of David, but…well, we really just left with a bunch more questions. Anyway, I picked these up for you. Your cards.”</p>
<p>“Cards?”</p>
<p>“From your friends. We left them all in your room so you could see when you woke up, but I guess you had better things to do than just sit around reading, huh?”</p>
<p>There’s a note of humour in her voice that Chloe hasn’t heard in a while, and she can’t help but grin. More than that, some people – quite a few, actually – gave enough of a shit to send her cards that there was a chance she’d never even see. <em>Don’t cry in front of her, or she’ll never leave you alone, </em>her inner voice urges as she does her best not to well up.</p>
<p>“Thought you might like to see for yourself,” Joyce leans in for another quick hug. “I’ll leave you girls to it.”</p>
<p>She’s as good as her word, stepping from the room and closing the door behind her. Almost three whole seconds pass before the first tear rolls down Chloe’s cheek. Seeing the look on Max’s face, Chloe reaches over to playfully punch her shoulder.</p>
<p>“If you start crying again too, I swear to God…” she bites down hard on her bottom lip.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Max fires back, still too emotionally drained to come up with anything wittier.</p>
<p>“Is that any way to speak to someone who’s been in a coma?” Chloe smirks, blinking away a few more tears. She’s always enjoyed teasing Max, and it’s reassuring to find she can still get a rise out of her, even now. She reaches out for the bag of cards and picks one out at random.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Chloe,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I know you’ve gone through so much, and I know you’re strong enough to get through this too. We never liked each other much, I’m not sorry to say it because it’s true, but you are a good person and you didn’t deserve this. None of us did. All I want is for you to see justice done, for you and all of us.</em>
</p>
<p>Signed at the bottom, <em>Victoria.</em></p>
<p>A get well card from the Queen Bitch of Blackwell herself. Not quite the welcome back to the world of the living Chloe was expecting, but she guesses even Victoria Chase has a heart, and the sentiment is nice, if a little backhanded and completely the fuck out of left field. She’s smiling as she sets it aside and starts to read the next card. This one has a picture of an old VW camper on the front and sharp, scratchy handwriting inside.</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re not gonna die. You’re too damn stubborn to die. Keep fighting. See you soon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Frank.</em>
</p>
<p>The blank side of the card is taken up with a big paw-print in black ink. Not only did Frank get her a card, he even got Pompidou to sign it. Her smile grows wider, straining at the corners of her mouth. When she shows Max, her best friend’s freckled face breaks into an identical grin. They spend a few seconds giggling and aww-ing together at the cuteness of the act, which again strikes Chloe as totally out of character. Nothing like almost dying to bring out people’s true selves, she muses. She’ll have to go see Frank soon, pick up some weed and thank him properly if he’s in a talking mood, which he almost never is. Whatever. It’s a nice card and a nice gesture and she’s increasingly happy to see that people care about her. She suddenly thinks of her dad, who wasn’t lucky enough to see all the cards and flowers that poured in after he died. She’s getting emotional. She takes a moment and a few deep breaths, composing herself just enough that she won’t break down completely, before going back to the bag for another card.</p>
<p><em>Dear Chloe, </em>she reads. Small, neat, fancy writing.</p>
<p>
  <em>I am so sorry. For everything. I wish I could go back in time and take it all back. Not just what happened to you, but everything I did and everything that happened that I didn’t try to stop. I’m not asking you to forgive me or trying to redeem myself or pretend I’m a victim. I don’t deserve that. I know you hate me and you should, and if you burn this card, I’d deserve that too, and worse, but I couldn’t not tell you how much I wish none of this had ever happened. People always treated you like shit, me included. I’ve got what I had coming now, but you didn’t deserve any of it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t think I’m getting out of here any time soon, so we probably won’t see each other again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nathan J Prescott. </em>
</p>
<p>All the happy, warm stuff she was feeling rushes out of her in a second, replaced by pure, icy loathing. Bad enough that Nathan’s still alive – she’s not even sorry for thinking it, he killed Rachel, he deserves nothing less than death – but now the little shit’s sending her cards, telling her how sorry he is for the state she’s in, was in, whatever, because of him? Damn right she’s burning it. She goes to throw it across the room, to get it as far away from her as possible, but it just sort of flutters and flops to the ground a few feet from the bed. Her hands are shaking.</p>
<p>“Chloe…” Max crawls over and wraps her up in a tight hug.</p>
<p>“Fuck him,” Chloe growls through her teeth as she sinks into Max’s arms. “Fuck him so fucking much.”</p>
<p>She can’t even hate him as much as she wants to; hating someone’s no good when they accept it, even welcome it. It’s plain to see, even if she doesn’t want to, that card didn’t come from the weird, stuck-up rich kid she knew in her time at Blackwell, or the monster that took her Rachel from her. Like with Victoria and Frank, what happened to her has brought Nathan Prescott’s truth to the surface. There’s nothing in those words but pain and sorrow and misery, real and raw and awful, and she knows that she’ll never hate Nathan as much as Nathan now hates himself.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Max whispers in her ear.</p>
<p>It’s not okay, Chloe wants to shout. <em>She’s </em>not okay, she’s a wreck, she’s gone from feeling nothing to feeling everything all at once, so hard it hurts. She wants to cry, really sob and scream and let all her pent-up shit out, but Max doesn’t deserve to have all that taken out on her, and she can’t find the words to express any of it, so she just balls up her hands in the back of Max’s t-shirt and clings to her as tight as she can while Max is rubbing up and down her back with her hands, whispering little calming things, letting her ride it out until she calms down enough to look her in the eye again. When she brings her face up, Max leans in and kisses her.</p>
<p>What does she feel in that moment, as their lips meet? It’s…<em>nice</em>. It’s like forgetting everything for just a second. There’s no anger in her, none of the faint sense of nausea she felt at reading Nathan’s card, none of the worry about how her emotions are so crazy right now, just the soft warmth of Max’s mouth, her gentle hands as they draw lazy circles on Chloe’s back, the small shock of surprise when she realises that, once again, Max was the one who kissed <em>her</em>, not the other way around.</p>
<p>And she didn’t even have to dare her this time.</p>
<p>Their lips part, but Max doesn’t move away more than a few inches. Her face is a little flushed, her breathing heavier than usual as she takes in some of the air she’s missed while they were kissing. Chloe takes a few sweet seconds to look over every detail of her best friend’s face; her freckles, the way her soft reddish-brown hair has grown a little longer since the last time Chloe saw her, now reaching past her chin, getting close to her shoulders. As those big blue doe eyes stare back at her, Chloe feels something new waking up.</p>
<p>Desire. Lust<em>.</em> <em>Want</em>.</p>
<p>She <em>wants </em>Max. Not just wants her here, sitting with her, holding her and helping her through everything while she adjusts back to the world of the living. She wants Max close, wrapped around her, <em>under </em>her; she wants to grab her shy, awkward, dorky, beautiful, wonderful friend, put her on her back and repay her kindness and loyalty in the most fun way she can think of. She thinks of how great Max makes her feel on the inside and she wants to make her feel just as good on the…okay, maybe technically what she’s thinking of is still <em>inside</em>, but different meanings of the word. Right here, right now, while Max waits patiently for Chloe’s next move, she’s feeling things she hasn’t felt since Rachel.</p>
<p><em>Feeling </em>is one thing. <em>Doing </em>is another. Can she do it? Actually summon up the guts to take their friendship, relationship, whatever it is they have or might have to the next level? She’s thought about it, of course, ever since that first kiss made her think of all those <em>things </em>they might do if they just had the time and the courage to do them. Well, they’ve got the time now. If only one of them could find the courage.</p>
<p>Max gets tired of waiting and moves in again, eyes closed, lips parted. Chloe feels another little jolt of something hot and powerful, in her chest, right behind her heart.</p>
<p><em>Fuck it, </em>she’s going for it.</p>
<p>She closes her eyes, forgets everything but that feeling as she pushes Max down until she’s on her back. She lets out a little squeak as she hits the bed, muffled against Chloe’s mouth, triggering a new wave of desire in the blue-haired girl currently on top of her. <em>Fuck</em>. Their lips never leave each other, and now their tongues are coming into play, no longer just kissing, <em>making out </em>with the promise of more hanging over them if Chloe can just get this right, not push her too hard but not lose her nerve or get caught up with all the shit in her head. Deal with that later. She just wants to feel something <em>good, </em>just for a while.</p>
<p>There’s a steady heat building up in her core, radiating out through her whole body. Max rubs up and down her sides, quick motions with small, gentle hands, making her think…oh, <em>God, </em>things she hasn’t thought in a long time. She’s never really cared much for the whole making out, foreplay, whatever phase; prefers to just get right into it with as little screwing around as possible, but now it’s different. Everything Max is doing, every little noise, every reaction as Chloe’s hands reach her hips and push them into the mattress, is driving her crazy. <em>Fuck, this is her first time, </em>she thinks. Is it, actually? Honestly, she doesn’t know. They’ve never really talked about that. They’ll talk about it after. <em>Focus. </em></p>
<p>She tears her lips off Max’s and turns her attention to her best friend’s skinny neck. Does she like that? Everyone likes neck kisses, right? They’re sexy. The heat inside is now a full-blown wildfire. Max must be able to feel that. Chloe’s going nuclear with lust. Two months without sex is a long time for Chloe – in fact, a personal record since she lost her virginity – but there’s more to it that just that. This is Max Caulfield, Max Fucking Caulfield, best friend, photography legend in the making and superhero, squirming under Chloe like one of those confusing dreams she used to have way back before the world turned to shit…<em>Focus. </em>Her fingers – clumsy with impatience – find the slim leather belt that holds up Max’s no-label blue jeans.</p>
<p>And then suddenly the moment’s gone. Max’s hands push Chloe’s away as she wriggles out from under her with such speed that Chloe pulls back a good couple of feet on pure instinct. She’s screwed it. It’s not happening. Shit.</p>
<p>“Max, I’m sorry…” she falters. How does one apologise in this situation? <em>I’m sorry I tried to fuck you. </em>It just doesn’t sound right. Max comes to rest sat at the edge of the bed, face a brilliant shade of pink.</p>
<p>“No, you don’t have to…” her voice is breathless, shaky. They’re both as confused and frustrated as each other. “It’s just…”</p>
<p>“Too soon?” Chloe offers.</p>
<p>“Right,” Max looks devoutly thankful at not having to say it herself. “Chloe, I…I want to, it’s just, well, you know. It feels weird, going from not knowing if I was ever gonna talk to you again to…to <em>that, </em>in a day. Plus, I look like hell.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” Chloe interjects. She’s not trying to change Max’s mind, just pointing it out.</p>
<p>  “I know, it’s just…” big pause. Sigh. Chloe moves closer, trying not to look too dejected as she wraps an arm around her friend’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“We can give it some time,” she says, keeping her voice soft and choosing her words carefully. “I mean, if you want to. We can wait until you, like, actually<em> want</em> <em>to</em>.”</p>
<p>Rewind. Max wants to, meaning that she wants to get down with Chloe. Fireworks going off in her head. Butterflies in her stomach, and descending. There is a god.</p>
<p>“I think we should,” Max nods and leans into Chloe’s one-armed hug.</p>
<p>“Just let me know,” Chloe kisses her forehead.</p>
<p>“Believe me, I will,” Max grins, threatening to spark another all-consuming lust-fire. Chloe does her absolute best to keep calm on the outside while thinking about how urgently she’s going to need to take care of herself once she gets a moment alone.</p>
<p>“Getting late,” Max says. “I should really get back to Blackwell. I’ve already got a ton of homework I need to make up, and people are gonna start getting worried if I don’t show up soon.”</p>
<p>To illustrate the point, she takes out her phone and shows Chloe her missed calls. Eleven. Kate Marsh – <em>fuck</em>, that’s her name, the church girl. Well, good to know somebody’s looking out for Max. Doesn’t hurt that Kate’s unlikely to be any competition for Max’s affections, either.</p>
<p>“Go,” Chloe gives her a squeeze. “Go do your homework. And get some sleep, because you <em>really </em>look like shit, girl.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you, Chloe,” Max says, her smile even wider.</p>
<p>“Thought you wanted to wait?” Chloe fires back before she can stop herself, drawing a look from Max. Clearly her coma hasn’t robbed her of her ability to shove her foot in her mouth whenever she feels like it.</p>
<p>“Seriously, fuck you,” Max leans over and kisses her again, quick and chaste this time, just barely brushing her lips. Even that’s enough to get Chloe’s breath hitching and her hands gripping the sheets.</p>
<p>“I’ll come by after school tomorrow,” she says as she’s halfway out of the room.</p>
<p>“Miss you already,” Chloe blows her a theatrical kiss and watches her leave, getting up to lock the door behind her.</p>
<p>Back in bed, she’s not even fully lying down before her left hand is in her pants. She shifts her weight to get more comfortable, fingers pushing under her shorts and down into that heat where she needs them. Oh, <em>God, fuck, </em>how the hell do those Christians, the ones who don’t have sex before marriage or masturbate, probably even after marriage, live? After a paltry two months without, Chloe’s already some way to the finish line after her and Max’s little makeout session just now, before she’s even really had a chance to get into it with herself, but she doesn’t rush. She takes her time – gotta make sure everything still works, after all – and when she’s almost there, eyes screwed up tight, right hand clamped over her mouth to hold back moans and not arouse, no pun intended, <em>fuck off, </em>the suspicions of anyone else in the house, she thinks of Max, her lips, her hands, her freckles, that kiss, and it’s those thoughts that push her over the edge. <em>Fuck…</em></p>
<p>She hella needed that.</p>
<p>After a short rest to catch her breath, she gets up on slightly wobbly legs – first orgasm in two months, go figure – and heads to the bathroom to pee, drink some water, brush her teeth. All done, back to bed to sleep. Anything she needs to do can wait until tomorrow.</p>
<p> Two hours pass, lying in the dark, rolling over now and then, before she realises she’s not getting to sleep any time soon. There’s too much going on in her head, most of it centred around one Maxine Caulfield. Should she text her? She’s got her phone back now – Mom kept it with the rest of her things for when she woke up - but Max is probably busy with all that homework she’s got, and a text right now, after what’s transpired between them, might be a bit needy. Better to wait until she sees her again.</p>
<p>That doesn’t help her get to sleep, though. So, now what? Masturbate again? She used to, every night before bed, almost like a religious observance. A good orgasm could always send her right to sleep, but if the first one wasn’t enough for tonight, she doubts another will do much. The way she’s feeling right now, she could work on herself until her fingers go numb and it wouldn’t make a difference.</p>
<p>Maybe she just needs a smoke. If she remembers right, she left a little bit in the metal box under her bed. Not much, but enough for one joint, if Mom hasn’t found it while cleaning and tossed it. She hits the light, pulls out the box, takes a look inside.</p>
<p>Nothing. Either Mom threw it out, or she smoked it and forgot. Ah, well. Probably wouldn’t have been any good; nasty, dry-as-shit, two-month-old weed. No thanks. So instead, she sits up in bed and picks up the bag full of her cards again. She hasn’t had a chance to check them all out yet, and she should probably get in touch with the people that cared about her while she was out, just to let them know she’s back.</p>
<p>She pulls them out one by one, making mental notes of all the names. A few are from family; Uncle Aaron, Mom’s Aunt Dorothy, even David’s parents, who she’s only met once, at the wedding. She doubts she made a good impression, but they were good enough to drop her a card, even including a twenty-dollar bill and the message, <em>Treat yourself to something when you’re better!</em> Thanks, Peter and Anne Madsen. She will.</p>
<p>Next up are the ones from Blackwell. Juliet, Dana, Hayden. Kate Marsh and Warren Graham. A couple from people who aren’t even at Blackwell anymore; Steph Gingrich, Drew and Mikey North, the latter with a pretty sweet little drawing of Chloe in cool fantasy armour – real armour, too, not the metal bikinis you see in some dumb male-fantasy artwork. She’s tearing up all over again as she remembers her old friends and realises that people, more than she thought, really do care about Chloe Price.</p>
<p>Max’s parents have sent her one, too. Talking to <em>them </em>might get interesting if she can’t keep her mouth shut about what she’s been doing with their daughter; not just the making out, all of it, the law-breaking, murder-solving shenanigans that almost got both of them killed. Maybe she should get Max to thank them for her when she sees her tomorrow.</p>
<p>There’s one more card in the bag, right at the bottom, still sealed in its white envelope. When she picks it up, she sees the paper is crumpled and the envelope is taped shut. Somebody’s opened it, then stuffed the card back in and pretended they haven’t seen it. It occurs to her that she wasn’t probably wasn’t to see it, either. Mom must have forgotten to take it out. So, naturally, she has to open it. Who could be sending her a card that someone would want to hide from her, especially considering they opened the one from Nathan fucking murdering shithead Prescott? Her heart quickens a little as she turns it over in her hands and squints in the lamp’s dim light at the handwriting.</p>
<p>
  <em>Holy shit.</em>
</p>
<p>It can’t be. It literally can’t be. Her heart picks up the pace from a light jog to a full-blown sprint. There is, was, only one person in the world so full of don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that she’d replace the O in Chloe’s name with a little hand-drawn heart, every time she’d write it, purely because she knew how much it pissed Chloe off. But it can’t be her, because she’s dead.</p>
<p>Chloe’s hands are trembling as she tears off the tape. She practically rips the envelope to shreds trying to get the card out, and when she sees the front of the card, her heart feels like it’s actually going to leap right out of her mouth to flop on the bed in a red mess.</p>
<p>It’s one of those fancy personalised cards where you choose the picture on the front from a photo you’ve already got. Chloe recognises this photo. She’s in it; it’s the same one she keeps in her secret stash box under her bed. Beside her, with a radiant smile, alive and eternally gorgeous, is Rachel Amber.</p>
<p>Almost choking on her own heart, Chloe flips the card open to see more of that pretty, curly handwriting that must take ages to get every letter just right, and reads.</p>
<p>
  <em>My dear Chloe,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t know what I’m doing writing this. I told myself when I left that I’d have to stay away, stay out of your life and everyone else’s. But since I heard what happened, I’ve come to realise that I can’t do that any longer. Seeing Arcadia Bay make national news was surprising enough. Reading about everything that happened since I’ve been away chilled me. I still don’t like to think about it. I knew Mark was into some dark stuff, that’s part of the reason I left, but enough about that. Thinking about you laid up that old hospital, not knowing if you’d wake up and knowing that, even if it was all over, I might never get to see your face again, I swear it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. I cried myself to sleep that night, and most nights after that. I’m crying as I’m writing this, not for me but for everyone who cares so much for you. You’re very easy to love, Chloe Price, even if you don’t see it, and I’m sure this card will end up buried under a mountain of others. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You’ve probably got so many questions. I promise you, there will be time for them to be answered, one day. We will meet again. You will get through this, and when you do, you’ll see at last how much you mean to the people around you. I wish I’d never left. I wish I could be beside you right now, to hold your hand and stroke your hair and see your eyes open when you wake up. All my life I’ve heard that I’ve had everything I could ever want, and for the most part that’s been true, but now it isn’t, and it can’t be right now, but perhaps it will, one day soon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All my love, now and forever until we meet again,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>RA.</em>
</p>
<p>Chloe turns the card over and stares at the picture of the two dead girls on the front, seeing nothing through a thick fog of tears. Neither of them, it seems, stayed dead very long.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bloody hell, they've only gone and done another bloody chapter.</p>
<p>Thank you so much to everyone who's read or commented so far, your kind words are what keep me going. I hope this next installment is just as enjoyable as I'm told the last one was. Next chapter coming up when I can be bothered. If I stay in the groove I'm in right now, that may be quite soon. Thanks again. Creap out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Catching Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days of the week have lost all meaning for Chloe. It’s been a gradual process over a number of years; after she got kicked out of Blackwell, it didn’t matter so much if it was Monday, Friday, fucking whatever. Really, the only difference it made was when she’d be able to see Rachel and where she’d meet her. Now, after waking up from a seven-week coma, her internal calendar is totally fucked. It’s Wednesday, but it feels like Saturday, since Thursday was two days ago, according to her memories. It’s also December, which is jarring to say the least. Shame the world no longer operates on Chloe Standard Time. This is going to take some getting used to.</p>
<p>Not that it matters anyway. There are far more important things to deal with. Like how Rachel Amber – missing, murdered Rachel Amber – is alive and well enough to be sending Chloe cards while she was in hospital. And, more to the point, someone tried to make sure that Chloe wouldn’t see that card.</p>
<p>She’s got a good idea who that someone might have been, too.</p>
<p>As she makes her way downstairs in the morning, Rachel’s card shoved in the pocket of her hoodie, she breathes deeply and promises that she’s not going to flip out on Mom or David this morning, not after being back home for just one day. <em>Stay calm, </em>she tells herself. She repeats it in her head, over and over. Deep breaths.</p>
<p>David’s on the couch, reading the newspaper while Mom cooks breakfast in the kitchen. The sound and smell of sizzling bacon seeps warmly through her senses, and she decides that any confrontation can wait until after she’s eaten. Her stomach is already growling.</p>
<p>“Morning, honey,” Mom says over her shoulder as Chloe steps around her to pour herself some coffee. “How you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Better,” Chloe shrugs, leaning against the counter. “Kinda confused, but I’m good.”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess that’s natural, all things considered,” Joyce smiles and looks as though she might drag Chloe into yet another hug, but settles for reaching out briefly to touch her arm before turning back to the stove. “Almost ready. Go sit down.”</p>
<p><em>Why didn’t you tell me Rachel’s alive? </em>Chloe holds the question back and takes her coffee to the table. Best not to ruin everybody’s good mood, or her chances of a good meal. While she waits, she pulls out her phone and sends a couple of thank-you texts to Frank and Justin. The rest of them, she doesn’t have their numbers, so they’ll have to wait until she sees them or gets someone else to thank them on her behalf. After that’s done, she passes a few minutes scrolling through old texts, seeing if she’s missed anything – anything else – while she was out. A few from Mom, back in October, getting increasingly worried and hysterical until they stop, she guesses at the point where somebody told her what happened. Other than that, not much. Everybody must have figured there was no point in texting her for the past two months, and she gets that, but it still leaves her a little cold to see <em>no new messages </em>after so long. Definitely going to take some readjusting. Almost without thinking, she brings up the last text Rachel sent her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Can’t tonite babes. Promise we will soon tho, k? xxx</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Received 20:04, 4/19/2013.</em>
</p>
<p>Three days before she was never seen again, in response to Chloe asking if she wanted to catch some dumb movie and blaze it up to celebrate Friday and bring in 4/20 the right way. If she’d known that was the last time she’d speak to her…</p>
<p>It isn’t, though. Not anymore. Rachel’s alive, and Chloe’s going to find her, and then they’re going to do all the things they were going to do before; road trip to LA, matching tattoos – Chloe wanted ravens, Rachel wanted blue jays, and neither of them was sure where they were going to get them, but they were <em>definitely </em>going to do it once they figured those things out – maybe take some time off from their families and school to follow Firewalk on tour, and just do whatever the hell they wanted, as long as they were together. <em>Chloe and Rachel. Rachel and Chloe.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>And Max.</em>
</p>
<p>Shit. Max could complicate matters. Or, more accurately, whatever’s going on between Max and Chloe could complicate matters. How would Rachel take it? On the other hand, Rachel was screwing around with Frank for months without Chloe’s knowledge, so…</p>
<p>Fuck it, figure it out later, like everything else. After she finds Rachel, and after Rachel tells her exactly what she’s been doing for the past six, no, eight months, there’ll be plenty of time to discuss both their lives and decide whether they want to pick up where they left off, or how they’re going to go forward now things are different, once everything’s out in the open. Maybe there’s someone new in Rachel’s life now. Wherever she is, Chloe has no doubt that Rachel could pick up some lucky guy or girl. For now, she just needs to <em>find her.</em> <em>Soon. </em>First, breakfast. She shoves her phone back in her pocket as Mom emerges from the kitchen and sets a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of her.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Chloe mumbles, picking up her knife and fork and doing her best to return her mom’s warm smile.</p>
<p>There’s a <em>lot </em>of food on that plate. It’s almost like Joyce is trying make up for two months of meals she didn’t make while Chloe was out, by serving about three times the usual amount now she’s back home. Still, Chloe does her best to get through it all. Warm grease drips down her chin as she crunches through a piece of crispy bacon. <em>Fuck, that’s good.</em> Better than sex. Well, maybe not quite, but easily as good as the first shower, or the first cigarette, in its own simple way. She breaks off a chunk of toast and dips it in the yolk of a fried egg. Is Mom going to cook her breakfast every day now? Probably at least for a while, she muses. She could get used to this.</p>
<p>The new, massive portions coming out of Joyce’s kitchen are a different matter. This is her first home-cooked meal in a long time, and it’s delicious, but two-thirds of the way through her plate, she’s feeling almost uncomfortably full. Better stop before she’s too stuffed to ask questions or even get up from the table. She pushes her plate away and drains her coffee cup before leaning back a little in her chair. It creaks. <em>Hello again, shitty chair. Did you miss me?</em></p>
<p>After breakfast, she begs a cigarette from her mom and steps out into the yard to smoke – Mom may be back on the cigarettes, but she still draws the line at smoking in the living room. The cold air nips at her face and hands and her first three attempts at lighting up are foiled by the wind. Fourth time lucky, she takes a deep drag and thinks of how she’s going to bring up the subject of Rachel. They have to know <em>something</em>, and she wants to know why they tried to keep it from her. David must have known she’s been trying to find her, all this time. She wonders if Mom knows, too; how much does David Madsen share with his wife? He’s secretive. It’s not out of the question that he might know more even than Chloe does. The tricky part will be getting him to tell. She sighs as she finishes her smoke and drops it on the patio. There’s no easy way around this. Might as well get ready for a fight.</p>
<p>Mom’s back in the kitchen washing up when Chloe gets in. She takes a few seconds to prepare, standing just inside the door, going back to the breathing technique she once learned from Blackwell’s anger management counsellor, many years ago now; in through the nose, out through the mouth, slow and steady.</p>
<p>“Hey, Mom?” she takes a step in the direction of the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Yes, honey?” Joyce turns to face her, drying her hands on a pink dish towel.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me Rachel got in touch?”</p>
<p>Straight out with it. No sense in trying to find a softer way to say it. The gentle rustling sound she hears over her shoulder tells her that David has set his paper down to focus on the much more interesting goings-on right in front of him.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Joyce after too long of a pause, suddenly not meeting her daughter’s eyes.</p>
<p>Chloe thinks back to the times when her mom would interrogate her about where she’d been, what she’d been doing, why she was coming home smelling of pot with bruises down her neck. <em>Oh, no, </em>she’d say, when Chloe would try to fob her off with some vague half-story about just being out with friends, <em>you’re not getting off that easy. </em>Now it’s Chloe’s turn. Mom’s <em>not getting off that easy, </em>not with this.</p>
<p>“You can’t lie,” Chloe says, trying not to snap.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” David cuts in in a warning tone.</p>
<p>“She <em>can’t!</em>” Chloe rounds on him, voice rising. “Come on, man, she’s a shitty liar and we all know it. I must’ve been the only six-year-old who figured out the truth about fucking Santa Claus.”</p>
<p>For a second, he looks like he might say something, but stops himself in the nick of time. Whether he’s conceding the point or just doesn’t want to get in a shouting match with The Amazing Coma Girl, she doesn’t know and she doesn’t care. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out the card, holding it up for her mom to see.</p>
<p>“I found this,” she says. “You opened it, you read it, then you tried to hide it, but you did a pretty terrible job, because I found it. It’s from <em>Rachel</em>, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“Chloe…” Joyce begins and trails off, looking down at the floor, squeezing the dish towel in her hands.</p>
<p>“Rachel’s alive,” Chloe presses on, not caring about how her voice is starting to shake. “She’s <em>alive</em>, and she knows what happened and she wants to talk to me, and you didn’t even tell me. Jesus, what else haven’t you told me? Does Max know, too?”</p>
<p>“<em>Chloe,</em>” her mother’s voice comes out sharp in the quiet kitchen. Chloe quickly reins herself in before it breaks out into a screaming argument. Deep breaths.</p>
<p> “Just tell me,” she says, a little calmer. “Please.”</p>
<p>She’s reminded of yesterday morning, walking home with no memory of what happened and sitting in this same room, in silence so thick she could feel it constricting her every breath. Joyce’s eyes flit back and forth between her daughter and husband. Chloe knows there’s some big secret here, and she’s <em>this close </em>to finding it out. Her mother can’t keep up a lie, least of all when the person she’s trying to hide something from <em>knows </em>that something’s being hidden; David keeps his secrets pretty well by comparison, but he seems to be staying out of this. So Chloe just stays quiet, practices her breathing and waits for her mom to come clean. She doesn’t need to say anything. She’s got them.</p>
<p>“Max doesn’t know,” Joyce finally says.</p>
<p>Chloe nods. That’s a little reassuring; Max, at least, hasn’t been lying to her. David gets up in silence and walks over to the door to his laundry room-office-study.</p>
<p>“That card turned up a few days after…after you went out,” Joyce continues. “We…<em>I</em> opened all the ones you got, putting them by your bed in the hospital so you’d see them when you woke up. The doctors were saying that…that you might not remember some things. We thought if you saw all your friends’ names, it might help jog your memory a little. Guess we didn’t have to worry about that, after all.”</p>
<p>There’s another pause, and a short, bittersweet chuckle. Her eyes are wet and Chloe feels a sudden stab of regret, low in her stomach, as Joyce clears her throat and starts up again.</p>
<p>  “When that card showed up, Chloe, I thought it wasn’t real. I thought some terrible person was playing a really sick joke, but…oh, David, did you really have to bring those things out?”</p>
<p>Step-Douche – Chloe still thinks of him as that, even if he has been a lot less douchey lately; old habits die hard – has returned. In his hand is a folder with <em>OCT 2013 </em>written on the front in black marker. For once, she’s thankful for his creepy, obsessive-weirdo habit of holding onto every newspaper, cluttering up the house with a collection going back two years or more.</p>
<p>“Let her see, Joyce,” he says, opening up his folder and flicking through until he finds the issue he’s looking for. Joyce rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“Chloe,” she says, “if I could give you one piece of advice in your life that I thought you might actually listen to – don’t marry a hoarder.”</p>
<p>With that, she steps outside to smoke. David takes out a newspaper and holds it out to Chloe, who practically snatches it out of his hand. The date at the top is October 18<sup>th</sup>, a week after she settled down for her extra-long nap, if she has the dates right in her head. On the front cover is a big picture of Rachel’s face, the one from the posters. <em>Rachel Amber: cover girl</em>, she thinks darkly as she reads.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>MISSING GIRL CASE STILL UNSOLVED, POLICE SAY</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>After the events of October 11<sup>th</sup>, where a body was discovered buried in the American Rust junkyard near the scene of a shocking attempted murder, speculation immediately ensued that the remains were those of Rachel Amber, 19, missing from Arcadia Bay since April of this year.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>However, police have now confirmed that DNA tests have shown the body is not that of Miss Amber, and the body, believed to be that of a woman aged between 18 and 24, remains unidentified.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In a statement released late last night, Arcadia Bay Sheriff’s Office mourned the passing of the unknown woman and reiterated that Miss Amber’s case remains open. When approached for comment, an official spokesman for the sheriff’s office said:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We are all working tirelessly to ensure Miss Amber’s safe return home, and to see that justice is done for this poor young woman. In response to recent events, we are intensifying our search and liaising with national agencies in our attempt to see both cases resolved quickly and satisfactorily.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Miss Amber’s family have offered a reward for any information leading to her discovery. Any person knowing any information should contact the police or sheriff’s office directly.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Full story on Page 7.</em>
</p>
<p>That sound? That’s her heart, threatening to punch through her sternum and make a bloody mess of David’s newspaper hoard. Fuck the full story. Rachel’s alive, and now she’s got proof, as if she needed any more. She grips the old paper tightly, thinking if she screws up her hands as hard as she can, maybe they won’t shake as much. She should really say something here; thank David, or try to express some of what she’s feeling, just <em>something.</em></p>
<p>“Fuck,” she says, the lone word making its way into the silent room as a breathless whisper.</p>
<p>“Now she’s seen it,” comes Mom’s voice from by the door. She’s back, the look on her face making it clear that she doesn’t wholly approve of what she’s seeing. “Could you please put your crap back where it lives now, David?”</p>
<p>“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Chloe snaps furiously, turning on her mom, all thoughts of staying calm and not getting into an argument flashing away in an instant.</p>
<p>“Because you just woke up out of a damn coma!” Joyce returns, eyes brimming with anger and hurt. “I’m sorry, Chloe, if a few things might have slipped our minds with you just walking your ass back home as if you woke up half-drunk somewhere again. Don’t you agree, we might have had bigger things on our minds, especially since it’s only been a day since you got back?”</p>
<p>“You tried to fucking hide it from me!” Chloe doesn’t care about how loud she’s being. “You could have waited a couple of days, sure, but instead you wanted to pretend it never even fucking happened!”</p>
<p>“Chloe –” David starts.</p>
<p>“You’ve done <em>enough, </em>David Madsen. You stay out of this,” Joyce shoots him down before he can get another word in.</p>
<p>“He showed me the fucking thing!” Chloe shouts. Anger rising, hot and red; she never thought in a million years she’d be leaping to Step-Dick’s defence – <em>David, when he’s not being a step-dick, his name is David </em>– but then again, she never really planned for any of this.</p>
<p>“Great, you’ve seen it,” Joyce shoots back. “Now, if you can just stop yelling at me for five damn minutes –”</p>
<p>“You still haven’t told me shit!” Chloe’s voice rises in volume again. If Joyce wants <em>yelling</em>, she’s going to fucking get it. “Please, for the love of God, will you just tell me <em>why </em>you didn’t fucking <em>tell me?</em>”</p>
<p>“Because…” she falters at that.</p>
<p>“Come on!” Chloe folds her arms over her chest, glaring daggers at her mother.</p>
<p>“Because…Chloe, I don’t want to sound mean here –”</p>
<p>“But I’m sure you’ll get through it,” Chloe snipes, surprising herself a little with the venom in her voice.</p>
<p>“Because we knew you’d try to go looking for her, like you did before, and considering where that got you, we’d rather not have to deal with all that again,” Joyce finally finishes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Chloe, who has something to say to <em>everything</em>, has nothing to say to that. There’s no anger in those words, not much feeling at all, really, but every syllable is so harshly matter-of-fact that she’s cut right to the bone. As her mother brushes by her to go outside for her second cigarette in the past fifteen minutes, as David stands silent a few feet away, still clutching his folder full of old papers, she feels a phantom pair of arms wrapping around her chest, squeezing her, <em>crushing </em>her. The backs of her eyeballs are stinging and it’s all she can do to get up the stairs and to the safety of her room before the tears come. One day, <em>one fucking day</em>. Her life can’t even be normal and pleasant for one single solitary motherfucking day.</p>
<p>She sits in her room, crying and breathing deep and feeling betrayed and sorry for herself until she can’t justify staying still any longer. She’ll have all the time in the world to brood over the shit that was, and still is, her life, soon enough. For now, there are more important things to deal with. Top of that list is finding out what the hell’s going on.</p>
<p>For that, she’s going to need her sidekick. Or her superhero, to whom she’s the sidekick. Whatever. Max. She needs Max.</p>
<p>After a quick shower, she dresses in her usual outfit of jeans and a t-shirt, the black Firewalk one she…liberated, that night at the old mill. Sixteen-year-old Chloe, blinded by the awesomeness of the experience and the always-dazzling Rachel Amber, could never have predicted where that night would lead her, years down the line. Since it’s cold out, she pulls on a green-and-black flannel shirt – one of her dad’s – over the tee, and her leather jacket over the top. She buckles an old studded belt around her waist, pushes her feet into her boots and fits her blue beanie snugly over her slightly faded blue curls. She’ll have to re-dye her hair soon, or just let it fade out totally and go back to blonde. What would Max like? Maybe she’ll ask her.</p>
<p>Phone, wallet, lighter; all are shoved into their usual pockets as she heads downstairs to grab her keys from where they’ve been sat on the table in the hall for the past seven weeks.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?” Joyce calls out as she notices her fully dressed in the hall.</p>
<p>“I need some fucking air,” Chloe snatches up her keys and leaves without another word.</p>
<p>Her truck is parked down the street, a little way from the house, where it’s been ever since the police brought it back from the junkyard. She’s not too thrilled about the idea of anybody else driving it, but she guesses she should just be thankful she didn’t leave anything in there. Like drugs, or a gun. She climbs in and jams the key in the ignition. The engine splutters for a few seconds before cutting out.</p>
<p>“Shit,” she mutters. She put gas in it the day before she last drove it. It should be fine. She tries again. Still nothing. <em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>“Come on, you old bitch,” she slaps the dashboard with her hand a couple of times out of pure frustration. It <em>has </em>to work. She’s got places to go. Key, ignition, turn; splutter, splutter, silence. It’s like it’s mocking her. She rests her head against the cold steering wheel and groans.</p>
<p>“I didn’t <em>mean </em>it,” she whispers. Not the first time she’s caught herself having conversations with her old truck. After Rachel left, but before Max showed up after five years away, it sometimes felt like the rusty old pickup was her only real friend in the world. On the fifth or sixth try, the engine finally turns over and the truck rumbles into life, the sweetest sound she’s ever heard. It feels like she’s really back, at last, ready to take on the world.</p>
<p>It’s just past nine in the morning when she pulls out of Cedar Avenue, planning her next move. There’s no sense in getting to Blackwell too early; Max will have classes all morning, so she’ll surprise her by showing up at lunch. She can kill a few hours until then. First up, she needs cigarettes. She’d like to go see Frank and grab some pot, too, but she doesn’t know where he is. After swinging by a store for some smokes, she’ll check out some of his usual haunts. Diner, beach – he’s probably not hanging around the junkyard much anymore, but she can check if he’s not anywhere else. She should really tell him about Rachel, as well. He’d want to know.</p>
<p>Thankfully, she doesn’t have to look very long. The dirty white RV is parked up by the seafront, where Frank likes to sleep. <em>Shit, </em>she’s going to have to wake him up. What’s she going to say to him? She guesses she should thank him for the card first. Then they can get onto the subject she really wants to discuss. Maybe he even knows something, too. Not unbelievable that Rachel might have got in touch around the same time she did with Chloe. Why she waited so long, over six months before even letting Chloe know she was still alive, she doesn’t know. It has to have something to do with…everything; Jefferson, Nathan, the Dark Room, Chloe getting shot, all of it has to be connected somehow. Her mind is racing as she walks up and knocks on Frank’s door.</p>
<p>Almost immediately, a series of booming barks sound from inside the RV. <em>Pompidou.</em> No sign of Frank yet. She knocks again and gets more barks, followed by a roar from near the back, loud enough to hear over Pompidou’s warning.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>gettin’</em> <em>it, </em>you hairy asshole!”</p>
<p>The door bangs open and she’s met with an unpleasant sight; Frank, bleary-eyed, tousle-haired and wearing nothing but an old bathrobe that might have been black once, now faded to a dirty drab grey and hanging halfway open. He blinks, still waking up as she comes into focus.</p>
<p>“Price?” he says sleepily.</p>
<p>“Yep,” she nods and waits for him to formulate a response.</p>
<p>“The fuck do you want? It’s cold as shit out.”</p>
<p>“Can I come in?”</p>
<p>He eyes her suspiciously for a few seconds before stepping back from the door and motioning her to come inside with a jerk of his head.</p>
<p>“Gimme a minute,” he says, sauntering off in the direction of his bedroom at the back of the RV. Chloe takes a seat at the little table as Pompidou gets up from his own bed and trots over, tail wagging, mouth hanging open in a doggie smile. She reaches out to scratch his ear as he sits down beside her.</p>
<p>“Hey, buddy,” she mutters as the dog leans into her hand. For all that Frank, and half the town, makes out that Frank’s companion is some vicious, half-wild monster, Pompidou’s actually friendly as hell once you get to know him. Not too different from Frank, Chloe thinks as the man himself emerges from the bedroom, now mercifully wearing striped pyjama pants dotted with a few old food stains under his robe. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, grabs Chloe’s arm, drags her up to her feet and hugs her tight.</p>
<p>“Don’t you ever fuckin’ get shot again,” he says into her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t planning on it,” Chloe groans, something in her back popping in response to Frank’s sudden bearhug. He doesn’t let go for a solid minute, and when he finally releases her to sit down, he runs his hands over his face and exhales loudly.</p>
<p>“Don’t get emotional on me, Frank,” Chloe says.</p>
<p>“Keep your voice down,” he bristles. “My lady’s tryin’ to sleep.”</p>
<p>“New lady?” she can’t leave that bit of news alone. “Who is she, Frank?”</p>
<p>“Nun,” he grunts.</p>
<p>“Really?” she smirks. “You’re banging a nun?”</p>
<p>“Nah, that’s her name. Short for ‘Nun of your fucking business who I’m sleeping with, Chloe'. Now, you wanna tell me what you came here for? If you’re lookin’ to buy, I’m sorry, I got nothin’ until Friday.”</p>
<p>“It’s not business,” she takes a breath, trying to think of the best way to put it. Like she did with her mom this morning, she can’t think of anything but to just come out and tell him. “Frank, I heard from Rachel.”</p>
<p>“You fuckin’ what?” the surprise is written all over his face. Clearly, he hasn’t heard anything.</p>
<p>“She sent me a card while I was in the hospital. Mom tried to hide it, but she’s really bad at that. Rachel’s alive, Frank. I don’t know where she is, or what she’s doing, but she’s still around someplace.”</p>
<p>“Shit…”</p>
<p>He takes a moment in silence while Pompidou nuzzles at Chloe’s legs under the table. While she waits for Frank, her phone buzzes in her pocket. <em>One new message: Stepdouche.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t get in trouble. Text your mom. I don’t need to tell you how stressed she is after that fight you had. Be home tonight, please.</em>
</p>
<p>She makes a mental note to do just that, once she’s got all her urgent business attended to. Frank looks up, his eyes full of weary acceptance mingled with sadness.</p>
<p>“Well…fuck, good for her, I guess. I heard it wasn’t her they found in the junkyard, so I guess I hoped she might get back in touch. Hasn’t sent me nothin’, though. If you see her, say hey from me.”</p>
<p>“I will,” she nods. He looks like he’s taking it hard. Whatever Rachel really felt about him, about anyone, Frank <em>loved </em>her. All this time not knowing where she was must have been as hard on him as it was on Chloe, even if Frank hid it better.</p>
<p>“Suddenly, I don’t feel like talking,” he says as he gets to his feet. “Good to see you, Chloe. I’m goin’ back to bed. I’ll see you ’round.”</p>
<p>That’s her cue to leave. She gives Pompidou one last scratch and walks out of the RV into the cold morning. Back in her truck, she lights a cigarette from the fresh pack in her pocket and goes over it all again in her head.</p>
<p>Rachel’s alive. Nathan Prescott isn’t a murderer. No, maybe he is. He’s not guilty of the murder Chloe had already mentally tried him for, but that doesn’t mean he definitely hasn’t killed anyone. He’s got it in him, or at least he did. Shit, he tried to kill Chloe, and probably would have if Max and her superpowers hadn’t intervened. She wonders about that poor unknown girl in the junkyard. Did Nathan kill her? Or Jefferson? He was always the real monster, the real piece of shit. Rachel…oh, God, Rachel mentioned him. <em>I knew Mark was into some dark stuff. </em>How much did she know?</p>
<p>How much does Chloe know? Not a whole lot more than she did two days ago. It was weirdly nice seeing Frank, but not as helpful as she hoped it might be. She’s still sure someone has to know something. The really hard part is finding out who <em>someone </em>is, and getting them to share that <em>something</em> with her. Rachel’s parents – her real dad and her fake mom – might be worth a look. They probably won’t be too pleased to see her; they were never fond of Chloe, especially after everything that went down between them all, but they kept massive secrets as a way of life. They could have known where their daughter was the whole time and never told a soul. If she can’t find out anything from anyone else, she’ll go see them.</p>
<p>After a couple of hours in town, doing nothing really, just driving around to get back in the habit and make sure she remembers where everything is, it’s nearly time to head to Blackwell. She briefly considers texting Max, but decides against it until she’s actually there. Give her a surprise, make her smile and hang out for a bit until she has to go back for the afternoon’s classes. Chloe’s getting antsy with not knowing what’s going on. She could do with a distraction, just for a while, before they get onto the subject of Rachel.</p>
<p>She drives into the school’s parking lot behind a taxi. The cab pulls up three spaces away from Chloe’s pickup and the rear door opens. A girl steps out; tall, thin, impeccably dressed with short blonde hair and a pale, pinched face.</p>
<p>Chloe hops down from the truck and sets off in pursuit. She should say thanks for the card and the kind words, and besides, Victoria used to hang around with Rachel from time to time. Not impossible she have heard something in the past two months.</p>
<p>“Hey!” she calls out, a few feet behind the other girl. “Victoria!”</p>
<p>Victoria Chase flinches as if she’s just heard a gunshot and turns, slowly, to face Chloe. The little colour in her face drains, leaving her ghostly white. She’s <em>trembling</em>, not much, but enough for Chloe to notice, frozen to the spot, full deer-in-headlights mode. Then, she turns back around and heads off up the steps towards the school at pace, heels clicking on the concrete.</p>
<p><em>That was fucking weird</em>.</p>
<p>Chloe walks back in the direction of her truck, catching a faint whiff of skunk on the air and following the smell into the trees beside the parking lot. Justin and Trevor are lurking under a pine, passing a joint back and forth. She clears her throat as she approaches. They snap to attention, thinking they’ve been busted for smoking pot on school grounds, then recognition dawns on their faces and both break into huge, stoned smiles.</p>
<p>“Shit, Chloe?” Justin takes a step towards her, reaching out as if he might touch her to make sure she’s not a ghost. “Am I tripping?”</p>
<p>She grins right back and pulls him in for a hug.</p>
<p>“I hear you came by to sit with me while I was out,” she says. “I fucking owe you, dude.”</p>
<p>“Ah, it was nothing,” he waves a hand. “Max was feeling like shit, she needed that break, and it was actually kinda peaceful. Besides, better than hanging out in the dorms with Dana and Trev in the next room. Those two are fucking <em>loud.</em>”</p>
<p>“Screw you, dude,” Trevor holds out the joint to Justin, who offers it to Chloe.</p>
<p>“Want some?”</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah,” Chloe takes the joint – smoked about two-thirds of the way down – and sticks it between her lips. Her tolerance is way down as of late, and by the time the joint is finished, she’s already pretty high, grinning and giggling at Justin and Trevor’s stupid jokes. Suddenly remembering why she came here in the first place, she pulls out her phone and texts Max.</p>
<p>
  <em>In the parking lot. Come meet me.</em>
</p>
<p>Her phone’s in her pocket for maybe twenty seconds before buzzing with Max’s response.</p>
<p>
  <em>OMG on my way! :).</em>
</p>
<p>She’s too excited at seeing Max again to tell her off for the emoji. As she waits and catches up with the guys, she realises that her heart is actually picking up speed, just a little, and she’s looking off towards the steps every thirty seconds. She’s <em>nervous</em>. Probably not far off having to control herself from actually bouncing on the spot. When she sees that familiar grey hoodie, hears that soft voice on the still air, her heart does a little leap. <em>Max. Max is here!</em></p>
<p>She’s not alone. Beside her is Dana, and beside <em>her </em>is a smaller girl with pale blonde hair tied in a bun, dressed conservatively in a grey coat over a white blouse and black skirt. That must be church girl. <em>Kate, that’s her name, gotta remember</em>. She hears their excitable yells at seeing her and feels a prickly wave of self-consciousness. It makes her wonder if she should really have come back out so soon, before most people even knew she was back up. The hugs from Mom, Max, even Frank – which, if it hadn’t been for everything else, would have been the weirdest thing to happen in months – were fine, but now she’s going to have to take more hugs, from people she barely knows.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Dana and Kate get it over with quickly. Dana goes over to greet Trevor and Kate steps off to the side, looking shy in her present company as Max steps up. She’s looking better; from her face, it’s clear she’s finally slept, properly, and she seems to have about ten times the energy she had yesterday. But what do they do? Hug, definitely, that goes without saying, but do they kiss, on the cheek, the lips? She’s never given much of a shit about that before – she’d lock lips with anyone she wanted, sometimes just to get a laugh from people’s reactions to two girls kissing in public – but with Max, something’s different. She’s feeling awkward and uncertain like a little kid with a crush, and the worst thing is, she <em>loves </em>that giddy feeling she gets in her stomach when she sees that freckled face coming closer.</p>
<p>Max takes the decision out of Chloe’s hands. Their lips meet, and they’re both grinning like morons when they come apart. Trevor wolf-whistles; Dana smacks him playfully on the arm and Chloe flips him off, to general laughter.</p>
<p>“Whoa there, Maximus,” she teases, trying to regain some of her cool even while her insides are doing little flips at the unexpected flash of intimacy. “Don’t get too excited.”</p>
<p>“What, I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”</p>
<p>Chloe’s head explodes. All the unpleasantness with Mom this morning, all the stuff about Rachel, everything’s gone the second that word escapes Max Caulfield’s lips. She realises she’s not saying anything witty in response, or anything at all, just standing there looking like a dumbass in total silence. The guys and Dana are talking, off to the side, something about going off-campus for lunch, and Kate politely gets Max’s attention over some school thing. Chloe’s not listening. It’s like she’s seeing everything through a filter. Something’s changed in her; not too long ago, she would have hated being called <em>that</em>, and would have openly mocked whoever dared to use the term before flipping out on them in private over how she’s not anyone’s anything. But this, now, this is different. Max has found her confidence, and it’s beautiful, and <em>fuck, </em>Chloe’s catching feelings she hasn’t felt in a <em>long </em>time.</p>
<p>“We’re heading to Two Whales,” Max tugs at Chloe’s sleeve, snapping her out of it. “You coming?”</p>
<p><em>Shit</em>. Is Joyce working today? She doesn’t really want to be around her right now. On the other hand, if it means spending time with her <em>girlfriend…</em></p>
<p>“Sure,” she grins and reaches into her pocket for her keys.</p>
<p>“And I’m still coming to your place tonight, right?”</p>
<p>“Actually, might not be such a good idea,” Chloe admits. “I had a fight with Mom this morning.”</p>
<p>She sees the exasperated <em>already? </em>forming behind Max’s lips and quickly puts together a new plan, before Max can roll her eyes or ask what it was about. They’ll get to that later, she promises.</p>
<p>“How about I swing by the dorms after school? I can help you out with all that homework.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Max’s eyebrows threaten to disappear into her bangs as the most adorable smirk in the history of all things creeps onto her face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re just trying to get me alone someplace with a bed.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chloe grins.</p>
<p>She takes Max’s arm and leads her back to the rusty old pickup, wondering how much homework will actually get done tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>More observant readers may notice this disintegrating a bit into self-indulgent fluff towards the end, for which I don't apologise.</p>
<p>Thanks again to everyone who's read this far :) I've loved some of the comments I've received. More chapters coming if I can keep writing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. It's never easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday is spent in full research mode. The persistent fog in Chloe’s brain slowly but surely lifts, probably helped by having a new mission, and she finds herself spending every waking hour searching for anything she can find out about Rachel; any suggestion of her whereabouts, anyone else she might have contacted or anyone who might know anything at all.</p><p>And frankly, it’s not going too well.</p><p>As soon as Joyce and David are out of the house, Chloe lets herself into the laundry room to browse David’s paper collection. Fortunately, the old newspapers are among the few things of David’s that he doesn’t keep under lock and key, so gaining access is easy enough. Less fortunately, there’s nothing of any real use in there. She spends a full morning flicking through two months of old news. The only mentions of Rachel come when the paper occasionally reminds its readers about the reward, and those cut out around the middle of November. If anyone had come forward with something, Chloe’s sure it would have made the front page. With a deep sigh, she makes sure to put the papers back neatly, in the correct order so David won’t know she’s been going through them – something that takes almost as much time as she’s wasted reading them – and leaves David’s office without knowing anything more than she did when she walked in.</p><p>When the papers turn out to be a dead end, she turns to the world’s most popular solution for information, pornography and last-minute birthday gifts – the internet. Her first stop is the <em>Bay Reporter</em> website, to check if she’s missed anything in the papers. Nothing there; she’s moderately proud of how thorough she’s been, but mostly just frustrated. Once that’s done with, she searches for hours for anything that might help. She finds whole forums dedicated to missing people. Gotta be worth a look, right?</p><p>Her research is interrupted in the middle of the afternoon when Joyce gets home, still a little moody after their argument yesterday morning. Chloe does what she can to seem genuinely sorry and smooth things over; it’s tempting to leave it all hanging in the air between them, after what Joyce did trying to keep her from finding out about Rachel, but she knows it’ll be easier for her if she at least puts up the appearance of wanting to move past it.</p><p>Dinner is eaten mostly in silence that evening, and as soon as she’s done, Chloe fabricates an excuse about being tired, banking on the idea that they probably won’t question that too much. Some small, guilty part of her flexes uncomfortably at using the coma as an excuse, but she’ll have enough time to feel bad about later, once her mission’s been completed.</p><p>Back to the missing persons forums. She’s surprised, or maybe totally not surprised, by the sheer amount of batshit insanity and conspiracy theories she encounters. Half the site is taken up with wild speculations about dead people – one guy thinks he’s seen Osama bin Laden in Chicago, another claims that Princess Diana is alive and well in South Africa. Other threads contain theories about Amelia Earhart, DB Cooper and some of the world’s other well-known disappeared people. In other words, nothing she can use. In another time she’d happily throw herself down the rabbit hole and get stuck into all the craziness – could be good for a laugh – but she needs to find something here. That means narrowing her search. She types in the name and comes up with a slew of results, filtering through them to cut out anything from outside America and anything obviously mental. By the time her eyes are starting to sting from the computer screen and her lids are feeling heavy, it’s two in the morning and she’s finally managed to wade through all the useless crap, leaving her with just results that might possibly tell her where Rachel could be. She should really get some sleep so she can return with a fresh mind tomorrow.</p><p>Sleeping is <em>hard</em>. All she can think of is Rachel, with occasional interludes of thinking about Max, which make her feel painfully, absurdly guilty. She didn’t get around to telling her about it all last night; she meant to, she really did, but then there was the whole thing of them having homework to do and being alone in a bedroom together, and in all the excitement of their study-break makeout sessions, everything else just slipped her mind. Now she’s actively looking for her old girlfriend who may have been the love of her life, while hiding it from her new girlfriend, Max, her best friend, the one who sat by her side every night for two whole months. When she thinks about it – Max sat in a lonely room in the hospital they both always hated so much, starved of sleep with only Chloe’s breathing for company – her insides twist and a slow pain starts to build up, pressing down on the space between her eyes. Her hands are clenched so tight they’re cramping up and she feels like if she keeps thinking about the whole fucked-up situation she’s created for herself she’s going to puke, or cry, or probably both.</p><p>As the rising sun filters through the flag that hangs over the window, Chloe wakes up after maybe an hour of unsatisfying sleep and reaches for her phone. <em>One new message: Max.</em></p><p>
  <em>Thanx for being my special study buddy. Still plenty of homework to go if you wanna come help me again tonite?</em>
</p><p>Great, flirty texts at seven A.M. That’s exactly what she needs to convince her that maybe this doesn’t need to be a big deal, that she hasn’t been basically lying to Max for almost their entire relationship to date. Swallowing the dark, sinking feeling in her gut, she pecks out her response on the keypad, choosing her words as carefully as she can.</p><p>
  <em>I need to tell you something. Parking lot after school.</em>
</p><p>She groans as she stretches before rolling out of bed to search for some clothes. It’s about nine hours until classes finish at Blackwell, and it’s gonna be a long day with the knowledge that now she’s already established they’ve got something to talk about. She lights up a cigarette, sits down in front of her computer and starts counting down the hours until truth time.</p><p> </p><p>*  *  *</p><p>
  <em>I need to tell you something.</em>
</p><p>Those six words hang over Max all day, an unwelcome distraction at a time when she really, <em>really </em>doesn’t need it. It’s only her second day of attending all her classes since Chloe woke up. She’s already having to contend with her teachers, the school counsellor and her friends, having to convince them all that her sudden shift in mood isn’t some kind of prelude to a full-blown breakdown. She tells them, as forcefully as she can, that she’s fine, she’s actually doing great, there’s nothing for anyone to worry about.</p><p>Except her.</p><p>What the heck does Chloe need to tell her? And why, presumably knowing a thing or two about Max’s anxiety after thirteen years of friendship, would she put it like that in a text? It’s ominous. There’s no other word for it. Ominous and vague. By the time the bell rings for the end of her final class – photography with Ms Ellery, Blackwell’s new, probably-not-a-serial-killer art teacher – the high-pitched sound fills her body with a chilly sense of dread, and she’s struck with the urge to blow Chloe off, run for the safety of her dorm room and make her excuses over the phone later.</p><p>Her feet are heavy as she makes her way across campus, almost as if her body is rebelling, trying to keep her from moving forward to whatever awaits in the parking lot. Every alarm in her head is screaming at her not to go, but she has to. If she chickens out now, it’ll only be worse later, when Chloe’s pissed off and still has this big, ominous thing to drop on her.</p><p>So she plugs in her earbuds and finds the most soothing track she can. Soft guitar music fills her ears while her eyes are fixed firmly on the ground in front of her. Best not to look up and let anyone get a proper look at her face. She can’t see herself, of course, but she’s got a good idea of how she must be looking right now; terrified yet resigned, with a hint of mad at herself for how she’s handling this. This isn’t how normal people react to the vague possibility of danger. Shaking hands, dragging feet, making a real effort to control her breathing; why can’t she just act normal for ten freaking minutes and get this shit over with?</p><p>The truck is waiting for her, parked across three spaces in true Chloe style. On the ground, below the driver-side door, is a little heap of cigarette butts, evidence of some serious chain-smoking. Shit, Chloe’s nervous too. Of course she is. Now Max just feels selfish for worrying so much about it from her own perspective, never even considering that Chloe’s feeling exactly the same.</p><p>God, that look on her face. The tension inside the cab is palpable, and Max hasn’t even gotten in yet. It’s bleeding out through the slightly grimy windows. It’s almost visible, like a heat haze. This is not gonna be fun for either of them, but she’s here now. Chloe’s seen her – their eyes lock for a few seconds, right before Chloe lights up her thousandth cigarette. No time left to back out. She wiggles out her earbuds and takes her time folding them up and stowing them back in the pocket of her hoodie, savouring the last few seconds before walking around the truck and opening the passenger door, immediately getting engulfed by a grey tide of smoke. Heavy music hits her ears; Chloe hurriedly turns it down as Max climbs into the seat.</p><p>“Hey,” she says.</p><p>“Hey,” Max tries a smile.</p><p>“Want one?” Chloe offers her the cigarette pack. Only two are left. Max takes one.</p><p>“Thanks,” she flashes another attempt at a reassuring smile, glad to have something to do with her hands. “So, what’s up?”</p><p>Chloe sighs and stares straight ahead, through the windshield. A few football players are gathered around a big blue SUV decked out with Bigfoots stickers, not paying an attention to the rusty old pickup, or the two girls inside, sat in what’s quickly becoming an incredibly awkward silence. Max wonders if she should say something. Nothing comes to mind. The silence builds up, heavier and heavier. God, this is worse than Max imagined. She’s seen Chloe in some seriously emotional states before, but nothing like this, silent, unmoving, brooding so hard it’s like there’s some deep, dark energy coming off her in waves. She <em>needs </em>to say something, or do something, before it gets to a breaking point and either she runs away or Chloe slams her foot down and drives into the sunset rather than bring up whatever this is about.</p><p>“Hey,” Max keeps her voice soft and reaches out for Chloe’s hand. Chloe’s fingers curl around Max’s and squeeze, though she doesn’t turn her head to meet her eyes yet.</p><p>The silence around them seems to soften, just a little, at the contact. The blue-haired girl remains quiet and mostly still, only occasionally squeezing to let Max know she’s still mentally present. Outside, the golden hour is slowly fading. The view of the sunset through the trees, the gentle light dappling the hood of the truck and the faces of the girls, is distractingly pretty; a small, rebellious part of Max’s brain wonders if she could get away with whipping out her camera for a quick shot while Chloe waits, apparently working herself up to say what she needs to.</p><p>“Whatever this is, Chloe, you know you can tell me, right?” Max says, barely above a whisper, shifting her butt in the seat until she’s as close as she can get without actually snuggling up.</p><p>Another squeeze of her hand, tighter than before, lasting for a good few seconds before Chloe relaxes her grip. She still isn’t saying a word or even looking at Max. The truck’s starting to get claustrophobic and unpleasantly smoky; Max rolls down the window a few inches to let the worst of it out, stretching awkwardly to get to the handle with her right hand while her left remains firmly imprisoned in Chloe’s grasp. When she tries to wiggle it free, Chloe’s hand clenches tighter. But she’s <em>still – not – talking.</em></p><p>Maybe it’s time for a different tactic. This isn’t gonna feel good, and she knows she’ll feel horribly guilty about it later – in fact, she’s feeling guilty now, before she’s even done it – but she swallows all her feelings down and clears her throat before speaking again with as much force as she can summon up.</p><p>“<em>You </em>said you wanted to talk,” she says. “I’ve been practically shitting myself about this all day, I was so fucking worried, <em>all day, </em>and you can’t even tell me now? Come on. I’m here. Whatever the fuck this is about, <em>you </em>were the one who wanted to tell me. So, tell me.”</p><p>Even through the guilt gnawing at her insides for talking to Chloe so harshly, she’s a little proud of how level her voice stays. It works, too, at least a little. Chloe turns her head for a second to look her in the eye, but she doesn’t hold her gaze for long, lowering her face to gaze intently at the dirty floor between their feet. If that’s all the response Max is going to get, she doesn’t know how much further she can go with this, acting angry and indignant to try to force Chloe into reacting when all she really wants now is to get this out of the way so they can go back to normal, or whatever normal might be for them.</p><p>“Come <em>on, </em>Chloe,” she urges. “We can’t talk if you’re, you know, not gonna talk.”</p><p>Silence. It’s like talking, pardon the cliché, to a blue-haired brick wall with a good few years of pent-up anger and resentment towards Max and the world in general. A punk wall, that won’t let go of her hand, but won’t give any other sign she’s hearing her. She can’t needle her anymore; even if she ignores the guilt, there’s every chance that all the ugly shit that’s gone unspoken between them will come to the surface. There’s only one thing left to do before this all turns completely to shit.</p><p>“I’m going,” Max says.</p><p>“No,” Chloe speaks at last. She tightens her grip suddenly until it’s almost painful. Bone meets bone.</p><p>“Are you gonna tell me what this is?” Max drops the pretence of anger and tries not to wince.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chloe doesn’t let up on crushing Max’s hand, but turns to face her again, and this time, she keeps eye contact. The look on her face – Max has always been good at reading her best friend’s expressions – is a curious mix of sad, hopeful and angry, all at once. “And…and I’m sorry. It’s kinda weird, and I just…I don’t know how you’re gonna take it, but I need to tell you.”</p><p>“I’m listening,” Max tries to squeeze Chloe’s hand back even while her fingers are going numb.</p><p>“Rachel’s alive,” Chloe says.</p><p>“Oh,” Max nods.</p><p>“She sent me a card. She’s out there, somewhere, and she wants to see me again. I’m trying to find her.”</p><p>Obviously, Chloe was going to find out at some point that Rachel isn’t dead. It was in the papers, after all. Maybe, if she really thought about it all, Max thought she might find it out a bit later, with an undertone of selfish hope that they might be able to figure a few things out between them before Chloe caught up with that particular bit of news.</p><p>“I spent the whole day doing research yesterday. I-I’m not sure if I’m gonna find anything, but I need to try, if there’s even a chance I might see her again. But, I don’t want it to be weird or anything, because there’s you, now, but I <em>need </em>to, and if you wanna help me out, I’d love that, but I-I’d understand if you don’t, totally, because…all the stuff with me and Rachel that you don’t even know about, but maybe you’ve figured it out, and…”</p><p>“Ssh,” Max presses a finger to Chloe’s lips, cutting her off just as her voice starts to shake. The vice grip on her other hand relaxes. She flexes her fingers; nothing feels broken, and it’s not important now anyway. Anything she’s feeling, physically or otherwise, can wait. “I’ll help.”</p><p>“You sure?” Chloe says against Max’s finger, still playfully held against her lips. Her voice has the quality of someone slowly stepping back from the edge of a meltdown.</p><p>“Mm-hm,” Max nods and offers a smile to defuse some of the tension. “So, that’s it?”</p><p>That’s a stupid question if ever there was one. <em>That</em> – as in, Chloe knows Rachel is alive and wants to find her – is categorically not <em>it</em>, and Max knows it. But for now, all the anxiety and pain is leaving the truck through the open window, and Chloe’s starting to grin for real while Max does her best to keep that reassuring smile on her face just a little longer. Chloe kisses the finger on her lips.</p><p>“So…” she takes hold of Max’s wrist, keeping that finger right where it is. “You wanna come by my place for dinner and research?”</p><p>It’s a full one-eighty. Sullen, grumpy Chloe has left the building, or rather the vehicle, replaced by this grinning girl, raising her eyebrows suggestively when she mentions taking Max home. Maybe it’s a hangover from everything she’s been through – Chloe’s moods always have been changeable, but this is a pretty dramatic turnaround, even for her. Everyone and everything’s changed over the past two months, more than Chloe knows yet, probably even more than Max knows, but she’s been kind of thrilled over the past couple of days at seeing how normal Chloe was, seemingly having shrugged off a bullet to the head with very few side effects. She wonders, a little warily, if these massive, sudden emotional shifts are something they’re both going to have to live with. She frees her hands from Chloe’s grip at last to search the pockets of her camera bag for her cigarettes. Now is the time to act normal.</p><p>In her still slightly anxious state, the sound of the engine turning over makes her jump and fumble her lighter, dropping it from her shaking fingers, only just catching it before it hits the floor.</p><p>“Nice save, Maximus,” Chloe grins, watching from the corner of her eye as she puts her foot down, tearing out of the Blackwell parking lot at a speed not generally seen outside of racetracks and disaster movies.</p><p>It’s only as they leave the school behind that Max starts to really process everything, and once she’s thinking about it, her natural talent for catastrophising kicks in. <em>All the stuff with me and Rachel that you don’t even know about, </em>Chloe said. Max hadn’t actually figured that out, though in hindsight it seems obvious, and Chloe’s as good as told her now. That’s an unexpected and, in Max’s view, completely unwelcome spin on her own budding relationship with Chloe. All that stuff Chloe said that week in October about Rachel, about how she was her angel, about running away together, and not forgetting how angry and hurt Chloe got over the thought of Rachel with anyone else…<em>God, </em>how the hell was she so stupid as to not pick up on any of that? Chloe Price and Rachel Amber were an item. Girlfriends. Lovers.</p><p>And Max has now agreed to help her girlfriend find an old girlfriend, so, what, they can be girlfriends again? Where does that leave Max? She’s heard Chloe talk about Rachel, seen the pictures of them together; no way can she compete with that. Rachel Amber was, and probably still is, gorgeous, and you don’t need much in the way of detective skills to figure out what feelings those two held for each other.</p><p>“Hey, Max, you okay?”</p><p>Max was raised to be honest. Her parents held truth and trust as almost sacred, and as a result, Max has always felt absurdly guilty whenever circumstances force her to be anything less than totally open and honest with people. So now, she hates how easily the lie comes to her lips.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she turns her face away, wipes a trickle of blood from her nose as the pounding in her head starts up.</p><p>Why does everything she does come back to bite her in the ass?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Long hiatus AND a slightly shorter chapter? Is everything alright?</p><p>Honestly, not as such. I've been struggling for motivation and going through it a little, but fuck it, I'm still here and writing. Not gonna abandon this one for at least a couple more chapters. As always, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and I hope there will be more soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Various Comings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s cold outside, but Max’s dorm room is warm, and Max herself is even warmer. Maybe too warm; after a prolonged period of snuggling on the bed, with occasional lazy, lingering kisses, Chloe’s actually starting to build up a light sweat in her thin tank top and pyjama shorts, but she doesn’t care. Right now, there’s no place she’d rather be after a frustrating couple of weeks.</p><p>She’s been spending more of her evenings and nights here lately than at home. Joyce and David don’t seem to mind, in fact, she wonders if they’re grateful to have the time to themselves and not have to worry about her. It’s not like she’s back to her old ways, staying out all night, getting wasted and engaging in whatever fucked-up shenanigans her instincts guide her into. It’s just Max, Max and Chloe, a couple of laptops, a shitload of coffee and all the information the internet can provide about one Miss Rachel Dawn Amber.</p><p>Which, as it turns out, is not a whole lot of any use.</p><p>People online are claiming they’ve seen her all over the country, in no discernible pattern or concentration. She’s working as a ski instructor in Colorado; no, she’s living in New York under an assumed name as a model, and may possibly be engaged to a minor-league baseball player; no, those are both wrong, she’s currently awaiting trial after being pulled over trying to cross the border into Canada with sixty pounds of cocaine stuffed into the seats of her car.</p><p>None of those things sound right. They’re not <em>Rachel. </em>She never mentioned skiing, as far as Chloe remembers, the New York thing just doesn’t seem like her for a few reasons, and if she’s in jail, how the hell did she order and send a fancy personalised card? So, they look a little deeper. Or rather, Chloe keeps looking while Max pours coffee from a thermos and keeps Chloe’s morale up with soft kisses and gentle encouragement.</p><p>“We’ll find her if she wants you to find her,” she whispers one night while administering a neck massage.</p><p>That sticks with Chloe, much longer than anything Max says on the subject of Rachel. Until those few words creep out between her girlfriend’s lips, all her worries have been about Rachel’s wellbeing, what she’ll do when she finds her and how Rachel might handle Chloe’s new relationship with Max. As soon as those words are said, though, new doubts emerge and resist all her attempts at banishing them.</p><p>Maybe, she thinks, with a wave of cold, consuming anxiety, just maybe, <em>Rachel doesn’t want to be found. </em></p><p> She keeps looking anyway, still finding nothing she can use. A gas station attendant in Sacramento <em>thinks </em>he saw her, but that was months ago, and he didn’t tell anyone until after the search picked up again, and anyway, it might not even have been her, just some pretty blonde girl travelling alone.  Some guy named Robbie North was arrested last month in Salem on suspicion of having something to do with her disappearance, later released without charge. A few people are convinced she really is dead, which she’s not, because, again, the card. Every possible avenue is explored and, eventually, exhausted, until Chloe’s torn between slamming her head into the wall or returning to curl up in Max’s arms. Out of respect for the other girls in the dorm, she goes for the latter most nights.</p><p>So tonight, there’s no research. Just Max and Chloe, some weird movie that Warren recommended on Max’s laptop, a shitload of candy, pyjamas and all the comfort Max’s arms can give while Chloe tries not to think about Rachel, or anything else that’s going on right now.</p><p>Max looks half-asleep. Her eyes are just about open, but it’s clear she’s making a real effort to keep them that way, and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes is slow and rhythmic. Recently, Chloe’s developed a much more physical appreciation for her best friend. Case in point, her chest. Always warm, with just enough softness to make for a pretty great head-rest, when she’s in the mood to keep still. More than once, Chloe’s fallen asleep right here.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, suddenly feeling mischievous – boobs right in her face, she can’t help it – and reaches up to tap the end of Max’s nose lightly with her finger. Max groans sleepily and rolls her eyes.</p><p>“What?” she mumbles.</p><p>“You’re hella cute when you’re sleepy,” Chloe grins.</p><p>“I’m trying to watch the movie…” she turns her face away to point her eyes at the screen.</p><p>“Bullshit, you’re basically asleep.”</p><p>“I’m tired,” she says defensively. “Remember how we’ve been staying up all night for almost a whole month?”</p><p>Chloe buries her face in Max’s chest again, guilt suddenly rising up until Max dispels it with a gentle kiss to the top of her head and a few whispered words she doesn’t really hear. That’s been the way all through their Rachel research sessions; Chloe feeling bad about keeping Max awake and occupying the small amount of free time she has, and Max insisting she doesn’t mind at all, she <em>wants </em>to help Chloe and anyway, Chloe’s been returning the favour with all the help she’s been giving Max with the homework she’s behind on – now almost completely caught up – and, <em>double </em>anyway, they’re getting to spend time together, alone, with all the opportunities that presents.</p><p>“You okay?” Max’s lips brush against Chloe’s hairline.</p><p>“Mm,” Chloe nods. “Just…”</p><p>“Gonna miss me?”</p><p>Most of Max’s clothes are packed in a slightly distressed suitcase, sat in the corner of the dorm room. It’s almost Christmas. Classes at Blackwell are over until the new year, the dorm is practically deserted, and Max’s parents will be here tomorrow to drive their daughter back to Seattle for the holidays. Chloe’s dreading it. Not just because it means she’s got to leave early tomorrow morning, before the Caulfields show up – Max hasn’t told her parents about Chloe yet, and they’re both agreed that turning up to see a girl they won’t recognise leaving Max’s room isn’t how they should find out. It irks her a bit that Max hasn’t told them, but that’s not what’s getting at her. She’s feeling low, sad, nervous, frustrated, everything, because in about twelve hours, she’s going to be looking at two long weeks without Max.</p><p>“Yeah,” she whispers, blinking hard as her eyes start to sting.</p><p>She shouldn’t be so worried. She knows that. She survived five long years without Max while her life went to shit, and then two months after that, though of course she wasn’t aware of that. It’s just…different now. It’s like Max is the one thing holding her in a kind-of good place, the anchor that keeps Chloe Price sane and stable. And especially now, with their long friendship morphing into something new, she’s really not looking forward to spending the holidays alone, where she spent the past few Christmases with Rachel, sneaking out, getting drunk and…</p><p>
  <em>Don’t think about Rachel. Not now.</em>
</p><p>“I promise, I’ll call you every day, okay?” Max says. “Or…or maybe text, because, you know, I get really anxious talking on the phone, but, you know, I’ll talk to you, anyway, and I promise, we can meet up as soon as I get back, and…”</p><p>She’s starting to ramble. Her hands are shaking as they rest on Chloe’s shoulders, and her voice is taking on that thin, shaky edge it gets when her nerves are pushing up to the surface. Before she can really get going in the direction of a full-blown anxiety attack, Chloe crawls up her body, lays a hand on Max’s cheek and presses her lips against Max’s, quieting any more words with a gentle but passionate kiss.</p><p>“Mm,” Max mumbles around Chloe’s lips.</p><p>“Ssh,” Chloe whispers, bringing her hand around to the back of Max’s head, feeling soft hair between her fingers. This is everything, this is what matters; if she’s not going to see her until the new year, might as well make this last night count, right?</p><p>By the time they finally come apart for air, Max’s hands are steady as they draw lines up and down Chloe’s sides. Chloe’s flat on her back; at some point during the kiss, Max has taken control and flipped them both over. For all that she’s small, she’s <em>strong </em>when she wants to be, and it <em>does things </em>to Chloe, as evidenced by the slow tingling that’s building up around her core.</p><p>As usual, Max shows no sign of wanting to take it further. Though her hands are wandering tantalisingly close to Chloe’s chest with every upward pass, they never stray around the front to cup or caress. Even though she’s basically sitting on Chloe right now, her hips stay still, keeping her weight on her legs, either oblivious or unwilling to consider what this position is doing for Chloe’s libido, which she’s <em>already </em>been struggling to keep in check as their study-break makeout sessions have grown steadily more intense over the past couple of weeks.</p><p>It’s not that going without sex bothers her. No, it <em>does </em>bother her, it’s hella frustrating, but she’s not going to push Max into anything before she’s ready, and it’s not like she can’t take care of those urges well enough by herself. She’s been spending a hell of a lot longer in the shower recently, put it that way, with Max on her mind while her soapy hands explore the same familiar roads down her body she used to take on those lonely nights when Rachel was in one of her weird, distant moods, not wanting to hang out or even call or text.</p><p>
  <em>Stop. Thinking. About. Rachel.</em>
</p><p>“Oh…” Max sighs and flops down on Chloe’s chest, in an inversion of their position of just a few minutes ago. A pair of skinny, freckled arms creep under Chloe’s body, embracing her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you too, you know.”</p><p>Chloe nods gently, saying nothing, not trusting herself to talk about it right now. They’ve gone over the plan – Chloe’s leaving tomorrow morning, before Max’s parents get to Blackwell, and Max will then tell them about her new relationship when they’re home safe in Seattle – and that’s that; no sense in getting too deep into feelings and risking spoiling the moment.</p><p>So instead, she just wraps her arms around Max, closes her eyes and lets the warmth of her girlfriend’s body seep into her own, soothing, letting herself get lost in the sounds of her gentle breathing, the scents that fill her nose when she nuzzles up against her. Her hair smells like lavender, her breath carries a sweet hint of spearmint, and her t-shirt is freshly washed. <em>Mm, Max.</em></p><p>The credits are rolling on the screen, the movie’s climax having gone unwatched by the two girls, more interested in each other that whatever spewed forth from some mysterious European director’s alien mind. Chloe keeps her eyes shut tight, trying as hard as she can to block out all the nerves, all the bad shit, and just focus on how good Max feels snuggled up against her.</p><p>
  <em>Rachel doesn’t want you to find her…</em>
</p><p><em>Shut up, </em>she growls over her inner voice.</p><p>
  <em>Max is leaving you again…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shut. Up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Max hasn’t told her parents about you because she doesn’t want them to know she’s dating a fucked-up high school dropout who’s still obsessed about her missing ex…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>SHUT THE FUCK UP!</em>
</p><p>They won’t go away. All the mean, suspicious thoughts keep rattling around her head like a swarm of furious wasps. Even with Max’s warm body on top of her like a living hipster blanket, she’s getting cold.</p><p>“Ugh,” she groans as she sits up.</p><p>“What’s up?” Max slides back onto her knees, letting Chloe go a little reluctantly.</p><p>“Uhm…”</p><p>
  <em>I’m freaking the fuck out about everything, and you’re not helping, or possibly actually making it worse, through no fault of your own.</em>
</p><p>“Bathroom,” Chloe mumbles.</p><p>“Don’t be long,” Max offers a smile as she settles back down. Is it Chloe’s imagination, or is there something behind that smile? Maybe a little hint of <em>I know you’re not being straight up with me about something, but I’m gonna let it slide for now?</em></p><p>The rest of the girls in the dorm have already gone home, leaving the hall outside Max’s room dark and silent over the past few nights. <em>Good</em>. No danger of being spotted as an after-hours visitor. Most of the other girls know her, of course, and never seem to care if they bump into her at night – and even if they did, what would they do? Call the head of security, who knows where she is and doesn’t care? – but she’s glad to be alone anyway, even if the air in the hall is a few degrees colder than Max’s room, making her shiver in her thin nightwear.</p><p>She sits in the bathroom a while longer than she really needs to, just thinking and enjoying the quiet and trying to calm her thoughts. The bad voices are persistent, as always, but with a little deep breathing and a few of the coping techniques still hanging around in her mind from the years of therapy after Dad died, she manages to dial them down to a low, nearly non-existent whisper somewhere near the back of her head.</p><p><em>It’s gonna be okay,</em> she forces herself to think. So what if Max is away for a while? The girl’s more than earned a couple of untroubled weeks with her family, after everything she’s done for Chloe. She can’t be expected to hang around at all times, and it’s not like she’s leaving for good, not like last time. Everything’s different now, right?</p><p><em>It’s all gonna be okay, </em>she repeats. It’s all just normal. Max is going to have a normal Christmas with her family, Chloe’s going to survive the closest thing to a normal Christmas the Price-Madsen household knows how to have; they’ll stay in touch, get back together when it’s all over, and get right back to work tracking down Rachel.</p><p>
  <em>Everything’s gonna be fine.</em>
</p><p>She dabs a few rebellious tears away with a square of scratchy bathroom tissue – you’d think such a prestigious school as Blackwell might put some decent TP in the dorms, but apparently not – and stretches her legs, numb from sitting, as she leaves the harsh artificial light of the bathroom and the low groans of old plumbing for the dark silence of the hall once again.  </p><p>Wait, it’s not so silent now. The dorm must not be as deserted as she thought, because those sounds, soft but definitely audible without the building’s usual hum of background noise, are very definitely coming from a human being behind one of those doors.</p><p>From what Chloe can gather, just standing and trying to listen, it’s a human being having a <em>hella </em>fun time, too.</p><p>Where’s it coming from? She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, standing still and trying to figure out which room those moans are coming from. Whoever’s enjoying herself - no, <em>themselves</em>, those are two distinct voices – they’re doing it in the privacy of a presumably locked room, the way people have been sneakily fucking in shared buildings for centuries. There’s no reason for Chloe to care who it is, but she just can’t leave it alone.</p><p>There’s a sliver of light visible under one door, a few feet in front of her. She squints in the gloom to try and make out the number on the door, and then she realises she’s been in that room before, with Max, drinking tea, petting a little black and white bunny rabbit and talking with…</p><p>Chloe’s grinning ear to ear with excitement at the illicit discovery as she bursts into Max’s room.</p><p>“Maximus,” she whispers to the girl now lying wrapped in a light purple blanket on the bed, while the room is lit by a single lamp on the desk. “Kate’s getting her rocks off!”</p><p>“What?” Max looks up, brushing some hair off her face, keeping her blanket tight around her body with her hands.</p><p>“Seriously! I just walked by her room. I heard it. Kate’s <em>getting it on</em>!”</p><p>“Chloe,” Max sighs. “You’ve really gotta learn about giving people some privacy.”</p><p>She’s shaking her head, but there’s no real reprimand in her words, and the look on her face is that of a girl trying hard not to smirk at the news of one of her best friends having loud sex just down the hall.</p><p>“It’s not like I was trying to listen or anything!” Chloe protests. “Just, kinda hard not to hear when you’re walking right by the door. Whoever she’s in there with, they’re not worried about keeping it down.”</p><p>“She’s in there <em>with</em> <em>someone?</em>”</p><p>“Either that or she’s like, the loudest masturbator in the world,” Chloe sits down on the bed. “Trust me, Max, Kate’s getting laid right now.”</p><p>“Oh,” Max blushes, brings a hand up to her face, bites down lightly on the very tip of her thumb like she does when she’s faced with something so deeply unusual as this. “That’s…um…good for her, I guess?”</p><p>Chloe grabs a pillow – ignoring Max’s squeak of protest as it’s yanked from under her head – and clamps it over her face, quick as she can, just so her hysterical laughter won’t come out totally unhindered. Best that Kate doesn’t hear this.</p><p>“No, I don’t believe it,” Max says, once Chloe’s gotten herself under control a little. “I know Kate. No way is she having noisy sex in the dorms. You sure it was her?”</p><p>“Pretty sure,” Chloe grins.</p><p>“Ugh, just…don’t bring it up with her, okay? I don’t even wanna think how she’d react.”</p><p>“Hey, what kind of gal do you take me for?” Chloe feigns shock and hurt a little too broadly. “I’m not gonna judge anyone for what they do in bed! I promise, I won’t say nothin’ about it.”</p><p>“Good,” Max sits up, still clutching her blanket around her slim frame, and kisses Chloe’s cheek. “And anyway, speaking of getting rocks off…”</p><p>There’s a purr in her voice that wasn’t there a second ago, something low and husky and sexy that shuts Chloe up. The smirk disappears from her face as Max stands up without a word and drops her blanket in a heap on the carpet. At some point while Chloe was gone, Max’s comfy t-shirt and sweatpants have disappeared.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck me.</em>
</p><p>She’s seen Max in her underwear before, of course. Many, many times, so much that it’s never really been an issue between them when Max gets changed in Chloe’s room, or Chloe gets changed in Max’s. But <em>this…</em></p><p>It’s a matching, light pink bra and panties, cut low around Max’s hips; a hint of lace hugs her thighs, while the bra gives just enough of a push-up to create some extremely inviting cleavage that seems to be begging for Chloe to dip her tongue in and taste warm skin. Definitely not Max’s everyday underwear. And those freckles, that impossibly smooth skin, those <em>eyes…</em></p><p>
  <em>Maybe stop actually drooling.</em>
</p><p>“I’m ready,” Max whispers.</p><p>Every thought in Chloe’s head flashes out of existence. Nothing else matters. There <em>is </em>nothing else in the world right now, just Max, her eyes, hot breath against Chloe’s cheek and a warm, nearly-naked body pressed against hers.</p><p>Her hands find Max’s slim hips, feeling delicate bones shifting under her touch as her fingers dig in, hard enough to bruise pale freckled skin. Max doesn’t seem to mind; judging by the breathy moan she lets out in Chloe’s ear, the sudden roughness just turns her on more.</p><p>Two bodies hit the bed hard, the alarming creak it makes going unnoticed as Chloe scrambles to get her tank top up and over her head as quickly as possible, minimising the time she has to take her hands off Max’s gorgeous, skinny little body.</p><p>Heat against Chloe’s thigh. Lips against her neck, her cheek, her ear, before a wet tongue starts exploring the hollow of her collarbone. Hands wandering on both sides, fingernails under the back of Chloe’s shirt and roaming lower, under the waistband of her pyjama pants, <em>fuck, </em>those are definitely Max’s hands, slightly sweaty without being unpleasantly clammy, cupping her, right there…</p><p>“<em>Fuck…Max…</em>”</p><p>Their lips lock together; Chloe pours every little bit of lust, love, affection, everything into a furious, passionate kiss, tongues rolling together, battling for dominance while two pairs of hands continue to explore, touching, squeezing, <em>groping</em>, <em>fuck, </em>this is all that matters, it’s like all she’s ever wanted, like her Christmas has, quite literally, come early.</p><p>And speaking of <em>coming…</em></p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“Whuh…”</p><p>“Time to get up.”</p><p>“I don’t wanna…”</p><p>“My parents are gonna be here in, like, an hour. Come on, Chloe.”</p><p>“Ugh…” Chloe groans and tries to swat away the hand that’s gently but insistently poking her in the soft spot between her ribs and hipbone. “You were a lot more fun last night…”</p><p>“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, but it’s morning now.”</p><p>“Five more minutes?” she puts on a pleading tone, reaching out blindly to find Max’s hand and taking it in hers, and gets a light kiss on the cheek as a reward for her efforts.</p><p>“You’ve got as long as it takes me to shower and get dressed,” Max says with a steel rod in her voice. “Don’t get too comfortable.”</p><p>“I miss Sexy Max…”</p><p>Normal, everyday Max doesn’t dignify her girlfriend’s half-asleep mumbling with a response. The door opens and shuts with a soft <em>clunk </em>as she goes off to shower, leaving Chloe alone to enjoy the warmth of the bed for as long as possible while she replays the previous night fondly in her head. One thing’s for sure – they’re doing <em>that </em>again, preferably as soon as possible. Max’s first evening back in Arcadia after Christmas is gonna be a fun one. Maybe Chloe should get herself some sexy underwear, surprise Max like Max surprised her? She grins to herself, eyes still closed as she relaxes. Maybe something black would look good on her. Or blue. It’s always been her favourite colour. What’s Max’s? She’ll have to ask her.</p><p>She hears the door open again and buries her face in a soft pillow. <em>Fuck</em>, it’s time to actually get up and get the hell out of here. Face down, she listens to the sounds of Max getting dressed; the closet doors opening and closing, light footsteps around the room and the creak of the bed as Max sits down to put on socks.</p><p>
  <em>Buzz.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, <em>shit!</em>”</p><p>“What’s up?” Chloe opens her eyes.</p><p>“<em>Shit!</em>” Max repeats, springing up and starting to pace the room. “My mom’s not coming here. She wants to meet at the diner and grab breakfast.”</p><p>“So?” Chloe shrugs. “I’ll drive you.”</p><p> “Is your mom working?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, I think so.”</p><p>“<em>Shit…</em>” she says again. At this point, she might as well have a glowing display floating over her head, counting down the seconds until the panic attack strikes. Chloe kicks off the blankets and gets up, not caring that she’s still naked, and reaches out for Max’s shoulders. She pulls her close, kisses her – her lips are already trembling, so Chloe goes for her forehead instead – and gives her a reassuring squeeze.</p><p>“Come on, what’s up?” she whispers into Max’s hair, trying to hug her without fully pressing her naked, slightly sweaty body against Max’s clean clothes.</p><p>“I-I…I d-didn’t…” Max begins, trails off, takes several deep breaths. “Y-you know I h-haven’t told m-my parents about us yet, bu-but I wanted t-to b-b-be the one to t-tell them, and…y-you know h-h-how your m-mom is with s-sensitive information, a-and if our m-moms get t-talking, w-well…”</p><p>“Hey,” Chloe cups Max’s face in her hands. “Breathe. Just breathe for a second.”</p><p>Max nods and bites her lower lip hard, the same little facial tic that Chloe found so sexy last night, now just holding back the tide of panicky stuttering as she gets her breathing under a little control. While Chloe watches her, breathing deeply herself, dictating Max’s rhythm, she quickly comes up with her plan, making good use of her God-given ability to think on her feet.</p><p>“I’ll drive you,” she plants another kiss on Max’s forehead. “I’ll call Mom first, make sure she doesn’t tell your mom about anything we don’t want her to, okay?”</p><p>“O-okay,” Max looks up, her big doe eyes wide and slightly wet. She shuffles forward, closing the few inches of space between them until they’re holding each other tight. Max’s hair tickles Chloe’s bare chest, and being this close while naked is definitely giving her some ideas, but she pushes those aside and puts her energy into giving Max a gentle back rub, soothing the last of her anxiety away.</p><p>“I’m good,” Max whispers, lips brushing the swell of Chloe’s breast.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, after a quick shower and a call to Joyce – conveniently taking a smoke break at the time, within easy reach of her phone – the two girls are on the way to the Two Whales in the beat-up old pickup. At every turn and every stoplight, Chloe takes the opportunity to glance over at Max, trying to get a feel for her current anxiety level; her breathing is steady, but Chloe notes the way she’s picking at a stray thread on her blue jeans, the way she won’t look directly ahead of her but keeps her eyes firmly on her shoes. When they pull up outside the diner, she looks almost ready to jump out and run.</p><p>“There’s my mom’s car,” she points out an expensive-looking, dark red sedan parked at the side of the building. Clearly, the Caulfields haven’t been struggling for money lately, or really ever, as far as Chloe remembers.</p><p>“Will you come in with me?” Max tugs at the sleeve of Chloe’s jacket.</p><p>“Sure,” she smiles. If she’s being totally honest, she’s not <em>really </em>relishing the idea of seeing Vanessa again after all these years and having to admit she’s got nothing going on, while most girls her age are in college, living their lives, and that’s without even getting into the added pressure that, under no circumstances must she let Max’s mom suspect anything about her love life, or Max’s.</p><p>But that’s all by-the-by. For today, she’s Max’s emotional support secret girlfriend, and if that’s the role she’s playing, she’s gonna do it right. Dutifully, she waits for Max to grab her suitcase from the bed of the truck and follows her through the door, into the diner.</p><p>Joyce is behind the counter, deep in conversation with a dark-haired woman. Chloe doesn’t need to guess who that is, even before she turns around and lets out a high-pitched noise of pure delight at the sight of her daughter.</p><p>“Maxine!” Vanessa Caulfield practically squeals, dragging Max into a hug that looks almost viciously tight.</p><p>“Hey, mom,” Max says, her voice strangled by her mom’s vice grip.</p><p>“Oh, it’s so good to see you again, sweetie! You’ve gotten so skinny,” she pulls away, casting an appraising eye over her daughter. “Are you eating right, Maxine? Are you sleeping?”</p><p>“I’m fine, mom,” Max’s cheeks are quickly starting to colour. Mercifully – for her, anyway – Vanessa decides to leave the interrogation for now as she spies Chloe hanging back.</p><p>It takes all of five seconds for Chloe to find herself wrapped in an equally crushing embrace.</p><p>“Oh, <em>Chloe, honey</em>, I can’t even tell you how great it is to see you again!” Vanessa gushes. “Maxine told us about what happened, we’re so sorry you all had to go through that, Chloe, but look at you! You’re looking <em>great</em>! And I <em>love </em>your new hair colour!”</p><p>Over Vanessa’s shoulder, Chloe notices her own mother catching her eye and smirking. She rolls her eyes and tries her best to ignore the looks she’s getting as she returns Vanessa’s hug.</p><p>The excitable chitchat continues as the three of them slide into an empty booth. Vanessa wants to know <em>everything; </em>how much care Max has been taking of herself, how her studies are going, whether there are any <em>boys</em> in her life. Chloe actually snorts with laughter at that last question; she manages to disguise it with a cough, but still receives a hard nudge under the table for her little outburst.</p><p>“Um, no, no boys right now…” Max shifts a bit in her seat.</p><p>“Well, honey, you’re an adult now. Just, please, promise me you’ll be responsible and use protection when you start dating.”</p><p>“<em>Mom!</em>” Max gasps, her cheeks a fetching shade of pink.</p><p>Chloe grabs a napkin, fakes a sneeze and makes a big show of pretending to blow her nose so Vanessa won’t hear her giggling. Max’s foot nudges her again, harder than before.</p><p>“Actually, Mom, that’s something I need to talk to you about.”</p><p>“About what?” Vanessa tilts her head and leans over the table.</p><p>“Um, about…about dating, I guess.”</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit.</em>
</p><p>Chloe’s not giggling any more. She crumples up the napkin and watches Max’s face carefully. She’s looking her mom right in the eye, and her voice doesn’t even carry a hint of a wobble. Out of her mother’s view, below the table, her hand finds Chloe’s and squeezes.</p><p>“I actually am dating someone.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“I’m dating Chloe, Mom. Chloe’s my girlfriend.”</p><p>
  <em>Holy. Fucking. Shit.</em>
</p><p>Max Caulfield, Max the wallflower, Max the painfully shy hipster who has an average of three to four big anxiety meltdowns a week, has just come out to her mother – and, indeed, the rest of the diner – right here. It’s a hell of a thing to witness. A powerful desire to grab Max and pull her in for a kiss is swelling inside Chloe’s chest, never mind that both their mothers are present. In that moment, while Max squeezes her hand hard and both girls wait for Vanessa’s reaction, Chloe’s sure of one thing.</p><p>She <em>fucking loves </em>Maxine Caulfield.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing really to say about this one. As always, I hope you enjoyed, and hopefully I'll be back with more soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Closer Now.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every year, a couple of days after Christmas, David makes the long cross-country journey to visit his parents at their home in Texas, normally staying until the new year. Every year since they’ve been married, Joyce accompanies him. Even in the depths of hating and resenting them both, Chloe’s always maintained a tiny sliver of gratitude that they’ve never once insisted she come along with them. In previous years, she’s enjoyed the few days of total sweet freedom that comes with an empty house and no-one watching over her shoulder; smoking and drinking as much as she wants, hanging out with the friends that David disapproved of, not even needing to sneak out when she could just walk out the front door as she pleased.</p><p>This year, it makes for a chilly return home to a pitch-dark empty house.</p><p>“Hurry up, I’m <em>freezing,</em>” Max says, hugging herself as she stands on the doorstep, shivering in the sleet even through her new thick winter coat.</p><p>“My fingers are numb, gimme a second,” Chloe fumbles with her keys in the darkness of the late December evening. “<em>Come on…fuckin’ thing…</em>”</p><p>She finally locates the right key. Max drops her suitcase heavily, breathing an audible sigh of relief as they both step into the house. It’s a welcome relief to be out of the wind and rain, even if it’s hardly any warmer in here than outside. They’ve hardly been inside thirty seconds when there’s a loud crash and thud of a body hitting the ground, followed by a weak groan of pain. Unable to see in the darkness of the hall, Chloe’s nonetheless fairly sure that was Max’s clumsy ass trying to get to the light switch and tripping over her own feet. When she finds the switch and hits it, her suspicions are confirmed. Max half-sits, half-lies on the carpet by the stairs, looking extremely sorry for herself. Chloe’s torn between concern and the desire to smirk at the sight.</p><p>“Smooth,” she whispers, crouching down beside her girlfriend. “You good, hippie?”</p><p>Max’s only response is a soft whimper as she holds her hands over her face. The small strips of skin not covered by hands or hair are darkened with an impressively scarlet blush. Sensing her embarrassment and self-consciousness, Chloe sits down on the lowest stair and wraps a reassuring arm around her shoulders, feeling her still shivering from the cold.</p><p>Seconds and minutes tick by. Max is still shaking gently, occasionally letting out small noises, keeping her hands up. Chloe starts to get an unpleasant sensation that not all is well. Max trips up, drops things all the time, always has done. She’s just clumsy. Sure, she gets embarrassed about it, but it’s never affected her like this. It’s not an anxiety thing, either. Chloe knows Max’s warning signs well enough that she can tell, and this isn’t it.</p><p>“Max?” she leans in closer to whisper in her ear.</p><p>“Hurts…” the smaller girl groans, one word delivered in a thin, strained tone. Chloe moves off the stair to crouch in front of her.</p><p>“You hit your head or something?”</p><p>No response but another little whimper that sends a wave of discomfort through Chloe’s insides.</p><p>“Let me see, come on,” she keeps her voice gentle, reaching her hands out to close around Max’s wrists to guide her hands away from her face – no longer flushed around the edges, she notices – and meeting with resistance. Unwilling to pry those hands off, she stays right where she is, even as her knees start to ache from holding her awkward squat position. This is not the evening she had in mind; she was looking forward to a hot shower, pizza and snuggling up on the couch in front of the TV, basking in the warm, happy glow that’s been floating her along since driving up to spend Christmas with Max and her family in Seattle.</p><p>“Max,” she leans forward and kisses the fingers of Max’s left hand. “It’s okay. I got you. Can you move your hands? Please?”</p><p>It’s all she can do to keep the worry out of her voice, keep her hands steady on Max’s wrists. The silence, broken only by the low whining noises coming from behind Max’s hands, is weighing heavy on her, a weight between her shoulder blades that won’t go away until she can look in Max’s eyes and satisfy herself that she’s not seriously hurt.</p><p>“I got you,” Chloe says again, fighting back the urge to pull those hands away. For something to do, either to occupy herself a little or reassure Max, she strokes the soft skin inside her wrists with her thumbs and tilts her body forward to kiss her fingers again, switching from a crouch to a kneeling position before her legs seize up with cramp.</p><p>Another long, drawn-out pause goes by before Max finally, slowly, drops her trembling hands. When she does, her palms are full of blood.  Ice water fills Chloe’s veins at the sight of Max’s paper-white face, the sickening contrast of thick, shiny red gathered around her mouth and chin, pouring from her nose.</p><p>“Towel,” Max whines.</p><p>Chloe doesn’t need telling twice. On stiff, achy legs, she hurries to the kitchen to grab a handful of paper towels, returning to find Max with her bloody hands cupped beneath her chin, keeping the worst of it off her new coat. As gently as she can, she presses one of the paper towels to Max’s face. Within seconds, the tissue is saturated. There’s a <em>lot </em>of blood.</p><p>“<em>Shit, shit, shit,</em>” Chloe’s started whispering before she’s even registered that words are coming out, before she can stop herself from doing anything to panic Max further, because that’s the last thing she needs right now, while she’s bleeding out from both nostrils and – judging by the grimace on her face, the way her eyes are all screwed up – in quite a bit of pain. She balls up the second red tissue, not caring about the blood that gets on her hands, and goes to work with a third.</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Max’s voice is tiny and scared. She’s still shaking.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Chloe says, more confidently than she feels.</p><p>By the time they’re done mopping up the flow from Max’s nose, both their hands are red and sticky. A small heap of crumpled, bloody paper towels sit on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Absurdly, Chloe feels a stab of dread at what her mom will say and do when she returns home from visiting her in-laws to find bloodstains on the hall carpet. She shakes her head hard, blinks a few times, brings her attention back to her pale, shivering, though no longer bleeding, girlfriend. Her eyes have opened. The glassy, unfocused look in them is a fresh intravenous injection of freezing discomfort. She’s in a hella bad way.</p><p>“Come on, Maximus,” Chloe takes her hand and helps her up, escorting her through to the living room. She doesn’t know what else to do. All she can think of is to let Max rest, keep her warm and hope and pray to any deity that might be listening that she’ll improve with time.</p><p>So she sets her down on the old green couch, removes her damp coat and sneakers with slightly trembling hands before heading upstairs to grab the thickest blanket she owns, a huge, dark blue plaid thing she’s had for years, that comfortably covers the whole of her double bed. Back downstairs, she lays the blanket over Max, tucking in the edges underneath her body. Her hands brush against the gentle curve of Max’s rear, almost cupping, causing a few naughty thoughts to stir in spite of the moment. With Max securely, warmly wrapped up, Chloe sets a glass of water on the coffee table, within Max’s easy reach. Then, she sits herself down by Max’s feet, draws her knees up to her chest, and waits.</p><p>It’s only when Max’s ragged breathing calms that Chloe realises <em>she’s </em>shivering, too. Not just her hands, her whole body, even though the room is warming up nicely now she’s switched the heat on. Her jeans and coat are spattered with sleet. She should really go back to her room and change into something warm and dry, but she can’t leave Max, not now. What if, instead of recovering, she suddenly gets worse? What if she starts bleeding again, or something new comes up? Chloe doesn’t know how she’ll handle that – she barely handled it the first time around, truth be told – but she knows she needs to stay until she’s sure Max is okay, preferably until she hears it from Max’s own mouth.</p><p> While she waits, occasionally glancing over at Max’s face, she mulls over the last few days in her head. That’s what she needs right now, a few happy memories to keep her mind off the bloody mess, the glazed eyes, the awful, barely-conscious whimpers of her girlfriend in agony. She forces it all down and focuses on those recollections of what was, probably, the best Christmas she’s had since her Dad left them.</p><p>First, there was the diner. Max squeezing her hand under the table, forgetting all her anxiety for a moment and telling her mother, right there and then, that she’d been with Chloe for almost a month. In years to come, Chloe wonders if she’ll ever forget the way Vanessa’s face turned slowly from stunned, open-mouthed shock to tears of joy and pride as she leaned over the table to wrap her arms around them both, followed by Joyce stepping out from behind the counter to join the impromptu love-in. When the crying and hugging and kissing was all done, then came the surprise offer from Vanessa to come up and join them for Christmas.</p><p>Two days later, on Christmas eve, Chloe found herself driving from Arcadia Bay to Seattle, putting her pickup to the test with its longest journey to date. For all that it’s a rusty, clanking old mess, the truck didn’t disappoint, getting her safely to Max’s parents’ house in good time, even accounting for a few cigarette-slash-bathroom breaks along the way.</p><p>Her reunion with the Caulfields was completed shortly after when she arrived to find Ryan waiting outside the front door. When she was a little girl, she remembers, she was always in awe and slightly intimidated by just how big of a man Max’s dad was. Probably six-two and north of two hundred pounds, a grizzly bear in wire-rimmed glasses, she couldn’t help but get nervous at the sight of him standing there, watching as she made her way up the drive. Expecting a serious, fuck-with-my-daughter-and-I’ll-end-you talk, the kind given by a million fathers to their daughters’ partners, she was instead surprised with a warm greeting and a hug so forceful she was left aching for several minutes and wondering if her spine would ever fully recover.</p><p>Even now, with everything behind her, she feels her eyes getting moist when she thinks about it. Nothing in those few days seemed faked or put on for her benefit; there was nothing but real, honest love and acceptance for their daughter and, by extension, Chloe. When they settled down for the final sleep before Christmas, Chloe spent a good half hour crying happy tears into Max’s pillow, overwhelmed by the kind of affection she hadn’t felt in years, not since Dad, and the experience of a normal, pleasant family Christmas.</p><p>Max mumbles something that Chloe doesn’t quite hear. She turns her head to look over, sees Max still basically passed out. The lower half of her face is covered in drying blood, but at least she’s not currently bleeding, and the shivers seem to be subsiding. Max’s shivers, anyway. Chloe’s are still very much there, every time Max makes a noise or shifts slightly.</p><p>Then there was Christmas itself. For most of that morning, Chloe hung around the edge of Max’s parents’ living room, talking on the phone with her mom back in Arcadia, enjoying some homemade gingerbread cookies and watching Max get showered with her family’s love. The best part had to be seeing her face light up when she tore the paper from Chloe’s gift; a set of art books she trawled the Bay’s few bookstores in search of, full of gorgeous pictures, practical photography tips and stories from some of the country’s most successful photographers. Max set the books down carefully, turned around and kissed Chloe full on the mouth, not caring that her both her parents were watching their daughter French another girl in the middle of their living room at eight in the morning.</p><p>Chloe leans over and takes Max’s hand, feeling a weak squeeze that warms her chilly heart. She’s still hanging in there valiantly. She’d quite like to lean over a bit further and kiss her, but the redness coating her lips makes her think better of it.</p><p>After dinner and a short nap, Max persuaded Chloe to drive her to a park near the house to take some pictures, and when that was done, they sat in the truck sharing a thermos of hot cocoa – borrowed from Ryan’s stash of camping gear – and more homemade cookies until it got too dark and cold to hang around outside any longer. Back at the house, Chloe spent the rest of the evening holding Max’s hand while she recounted the events of her first term at Blackwell to her stunned parents.</p><p>Chloe’s favourite memory, though, the one she knows she’ll keep around for a rainy day for years to come, comes from Boxing Day night and Max’s old bedroom. Since they were now ‘official’ in the eyes of both their families, a long, lazy makeout session turned into an opportunity to re-consummate their relationship. Thankfully, Ryan and Vanessa are both heavy sleepers, especially with the help of a few festive drinks, though Max did stop Chloe from going any further than a little light touching until she’d carefully placed her teddy bear in the corner facing the wall, because, in her words, <em>“The Captain doesn’t need to see this.”</em></p><p>She chuckles gently to herself at the memory. A small foot in a light pink sock nudges her thigh as Max stretches her legs out and yawns. When Chloe looks, her eyes are open, not just open but awake, alert and almost bright.</p><p>“Hey,” Chloe tries a smile.</p><p>“Mm…hey…” Max wriggles a bit to get more comfortable, sitting up straighter. It’s clear from the way she moves that, although she’s back up and talking, she’s still weakened from what she’s been through. Her voice is no longer strained, but low and whispery. “I’m s-sorry you had to s-see that.”</p><p>“What happened?” Chloe turns in her seat and pulls Max’s socked feet into her lap, not bothered about trying to hide her concern or her burning need to know what the hell’s going on.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Max admits. “I th-think it’s from all the t-time travel and…and shit.”</p><p><em>Of course. Fuck. </em>Now she remembers, Max’s superpowers used to come with the side effects of nosebleeds and headaches. At the time, Chloe always thought it was a small price to pay. Admittedly, she didn’t have to suffer them, but just a little dribble of blood and a bit of discomfort in exchange for turning back time? Sign her the fuck up. But what she’s just seen was so much worse, a horror movie come to life, and anyway, Max hasn’t been time-travelling since that week in October. She can’t. They’ve gone through it all before; Max’s powers went away as suddenly as they’d arrived, sometime after that night in the junkyard. If she’d still had them, maybe Chloe wouldn’t have ended up in a coma, but she did, because Max couldn’t do anything about it.</p><p>And now, after it all, she’s getting sick, passing out, almost bleeding out through her nose. With a sharp jolt of worry, Chloe’s reminded of how thin and tired Max looked the first time she saw her after waking up. Even after putting on a little weight from eating and sleeping better since Chloe’s been back around, she’s still thinner than before. When they’re close, Chloe can feel her ribs.</p><p>“How long’s this been going on?” she says.</p><p>“Since…you know,” Max bites her lip, and Chloe takes it to mean <em>since you got shot.</em></p><p>“How often?” she feels her insides twist with guilt at questioning Max like this, but she can’t stop herself. She <em>needs </em>to know. “Is it always that bad?”</p><p>“Only once,” Max says. “I m-mean, it’s only b-been that bad one other time. It c-comes and goes, b-but it’s just a l-little bit m-most of the t-time.”</p><p>“Hm,” Chloe nods. Any other questions will have to wait; Max is already stuttering pretty badly, enough for Chloe to know she won’t be up for much in the way of conversation for a while.</p><p>Max pulls her knees up to her chest and reaches out her arms, inviting Chloe to come closer. Ignoring the blood on her hands, her t-shirt, her face, Chloe moves in to embrace the smaller girl. Her skin is cold to the touch and clammy, and the red ring around her mouth makes Chloe’s stomach turn, but she holds her for as long as she wants, nuzzling into her hair to avoid getting too close to her bloody face. The silence that falls is, for now, not uncomfortable. Chloe’s mainly just relieved that Max is okay, or something like it.</p><p>“How you feeling?” she whispers.</p><p>“B-better,” Max nods against Chloe’s chest.</p><p>Chloe kisses the top of her head and gives her a gentle squeeze. Any other time, she’d be grinning like an idiot to be in this position, warming up slowly in Max’s arms while the world just fades out to a gentle hum around the edges of her perception. Right now, though, it’s hard to relax with the image of Max’s panic-stricken face still burned into her mind.</p><p>“Can I t-take a shower?” Max asks.</p><p>“You don’t have to ask,” Chloe smiles in spite of herself at Max’s adorably shy tone. “I’ll go find you a towel, okay?”</p><p>“I can manage that,” Max frowns, playfully defensive.</p><p>“Sure you’ll be alright showering on your own? I can come give you a hand.”</p><p>“I’m fine…” Max starts to protest, then picks up on the true nature of Chloe’s suggestion, her bloody mouth curling into a grin.</p><p>“Are you <em>sure?</em>” Chloe notices that smile and dials up the flirting.</p><p>“Um…” she bites her lower lip, eyes flicking up and down. “I mean, I’m s-still a little shaky, s-so if you d-don’t mind…I g-guess maybe I could use a little help.”</p><p>Their shared shower turns out to be more practical than sexy, saving water while allowing Chloe to keep an eye on Max in case she starts getting faint again. When she undresses, Chloe watches her with concern and just a small pinch of lust, and once they’re together under the water, all thoughts of soapy fun go out of her head when she sees how wobbly Max’s legs still are. No sense in making those knees even weaker. Being warm, helping Max out, feeling a relaxed body against hers as she lathers up her hair, is almost as good as anything else she can think of right now. <em>Almost.</em></p><p>When they’re done, Max stands up on her toes – holding Chloe’s arms for support – and kisses her, long and slow and sweet, bringing a pink flush to Chloe’s cheeks.</p><p>“Damn, you really know how to make a girl blush,” she says.</p><p>“Damn straight,” Max winks, a gesture that fills Chloe with warmth, like a gentle buzzing spreading from her chest to the tips of her fingers. <em>How is it even legal to be that cute?</em></p><p>After she turns off the water, it’s a dash to get back to Chloe’s room and into warm clothes as soon as possible before the cold starts getting to their wet bodies. In sweatpants and hoodies, they settle down on the bed, Max curling up in a ball with her head on Chloe’s chest. Even now, she’s still shivering – only slightly, but enough to start picking away at Chloe’s raw nerves all over again. She turns to her side and pulls Max closer, wanting to get as close as she can and just hold onto her like her life depends on it. She tells herself it’s nothing serious, nothing <em>really </em>serious, but she doesn’t believe the words she’s forcing herself to think. Whatever’s really going on with Max, no way in hell is it <em>nothing serious.</em></p><p>“Hey, Max?” she whispers.</p><p>“Mm?” says the mop of auburn hair underneath her chin, face hidden as she nuzzles deeper into the front of Chloe’s hoodie.</p><p><em>You need to get help, </em>she wants to say. <em>You need to get to a doctor and find out what’s wrong with you. It’s bad, Max. You have to know that. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I’ll be right behind you. I’ll hold your hand through the whole thing if that’s what you need me to do, because…</em></p><p>She can’t bring herself to say any of that, so she swallows it all down and just goes for the final three words.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>The noise that comes out of Max, muffled in Chloe’s chest, is one she normally reserves only for extremely cute baby animals and priceless photo opportunities. For a few blissful, fleeting seconds, Chloe’s actually almost convinced everything’s gonna be okay. They’re Max and Chloe, they’re together, they can survive whatever the world wants to throw at them. Max puts what little strength she has at the moment into wrapping herself around Chloe, arms and legs squeezing tight while she continues to make those tiny, high-pitched delighted sounds. Chloe notices she hasn’t said <em>I love you too </em>yet, but that’s forgivable. Maybe after just under a month of dating, they’re not really at the point where that sort of thing is expected yet. It <em>was </em>kind of a gamble, throwing it out like that, but Chloe got caught up in the moment like she always does and just <em>had</em> to say it.</p><p><em>Max doesn’t love you, </em>whispers that nasty little voice in the back of her head.</p><p><em>Fuck you, </em>she snaps back silently.</p><p>The bad thoughts don’t hang around very long this time, though. As soon as Max recovers from the unexpected declaration of love, she moves up Chloe’s body and presses, or more accurately smashes, her lips against Chloe’s in a kiss that sits right on the border between passionate and downright aggressive. She holds her position right there and doesn’t move away or try to push beyond a kiss, no tongue, no wandering hands tugging at clothes, just a warm mouth and a very clear message that she’s struggling to put her feelings in words, so she’s saying what she needs to say with her lips.</p><p>When they finally come apart, at least a full minute later, Chloe lets her head fall back on the pillow, chest heaving as she sucks in a much-needed breath.</p><p>The room is quiet for a long time, with just the sounds of the two girls’ steady breathing and the occasional soft rustle of sheets when they move to get more comfortable. At some point, Max rolls over so that her back’s facing Chloe, and Chloe wraps an arm around her waist to take the big spoon position, warm and comforting. Truth be told, she normally prefers it the other way around, but Max probably needs to be held more right now, so she accepts her place willingly, occasionally leaning over Max’s shoulder to plant small kisses on her cheek. Gradually, the smaller girl seems to calm down until her shivers are all but gone.</p><p>A loud, deep growl breaks the silence of the room. Almost at the point of drifting off to sleep, helped by the warm body in her arms, Chloe suddenly snaps to attention, scanning for the source of the disturbance for a few seconds until her drowsy mind makes the connection.</p><p>“You hungry?” she whispers into the ear by her lips.</p><p>“Y-yeah,” Max stutters. There’s a light but noticeable heat starting to emanate from her face; she’s actually blushing, just because her tummy happened to rumble at the exact moment they were about to enjoy a sweet nap in each other’s arms.</p><p>Chloe looks over at the old digital clock that sits on her desk. It’s only just coming up to quarter past eight, but it feels much later. Perhaps it’s just because it’s dark, or maybe it’s the long drive, or the anxiety crash, or the fact they’re both showered, settled and basically ready for bed right now. Whatever the case, it reminds her that neither of them has eaten since lunch with Max’s parents before setting off back home. They should really fix that.</p><p>“Pizza?” Chloe suggests, remembering her original plan for this evening.</p><p>Max perks up almost instantly. It’s like watching a different girl – no, actually, it’s like watching the same girl if she hadn’t recently lost a shitload of blood and almost passed out – as she wriggles out of Chloe’s arms and sits up in bed, a wide grin spreading across her freckled face.</p><p>“Can I take that as a yes?” Chloe looks up at Max, a smile of her own starting to tug at her lips.</p><p>“You may take that as a <em>fuck yes.</em>”</p><p>There’s another kiss, quick and playful, before they pick themselves up off the bed and head back down to the living room, giggling like children. Chloe’s reminded of the sleepovers they had as little girls, in this very house. During school holidays, Max probably spent more nights in Chloe’s room than she did in her own, bundled up on the floor in that pink sleeping bag she used to have, talking about nothing and everything until way past their bedtime – in hushed voices so as not to wake Chloe’s parents, naturally.</p><p><em>Except she’s not gonna be sleeping on the floor now, </em>Chloe smirks to herself.</p><p>Max’s legs are still very slightly shaky, but Chloe’s practically bouncing with every step as she makes her way to the kitchen. <em>This </em>is more like it, enjoying themselves, grinning and giggling and having a little well-earned fun while home alone.</p><p>“Hey, Chloe?” Max calls from the hall. “You’ve got a letter.”</p><p>“From where?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Can I open it?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Chloe’s not really paying attention as she searches the kitchen drawers, trying to find the one where all the take-out menus are kept. Back when Dad was alive, he always kept a small stash around for special occasions, and Chloe picked up the habit when he passed. Always came in handy on those evenings when Joyce had to work and David wasn’t around to give her shit. Pizza, weed and Rachel; all the ingredients for a sweet night in, back in the day.</p><p>And now she can’t find the fucking things. If this is the memory loss from getting shot in the head, she feels cheated. Why couldn’t she forget all the unpleasantness from this year, something she’d actually like to forget, instead of where the pizza menus live?</p><p>A gentle nudge in the small of her back, just above the waist, makes her jump. She can’t stop from biting down lightly on her lip; that particular spot is a big weakness for Chloe, in the right circumstances like, say, her girlfriend’s soft hand brushing bare skin while she stretches up on the tips of her toes to see if Joyce might have moved the menus to some weird spot, high up in a rarely-used cupboard. Abandoning her search for a second, she turns around to face Max.</p><p>That look on her face…</p><p>It’s not the worst look she’s ever seen her wearing. Not even the worst look she’s seen from Max tonight, actually. There’s none of the wordless terror at seeing so much of her own blood, or that sick, pained expression of a girl on the edge of losing consciousness. Just a sad, downcast look somewhere between a frown and a trembling, verge of tears kind of face. In her right hand is Chloe’s letter, which is in fact a card, and the torn envelope it came in.</p><p>And on the envelope is a single word – <em>Chloe­, </em>the fourth letter replaced by a cutesy little hand-drawn heart.</p><p>Max isn’t saying anything. No matter. Only one person writes Chloe’s name like that; there’s only one person it could possibly be from.</p><p>“Can I see it?” Chloe says. Her impulsive nature screams out to just snatch it right away, but she <em>can’t</em>, not from Max.</p><p>Max hands over the card mutely. Chloe turns it over in her hands to see the picture on the front. It’s another of those personalised ones where the sender chooses the picture. Carrying on from the last card, Rachel’s gone for a photo of the two of them together. In this case, they’re both stretched out on the couch in their old junkyard hideout, a smouldering joint between Chloe’s fingers as her arm rests around Rachel’s waist. Her eyes are closed, but Rachel’s are wide open, and she’s staring into the camera with a flirtatious half-smile as Chloe presses her lips against her cheek. Not <em>really </em>the kind of picture she’d want Max to see, knowing how insecure that girl can be about things, but judging by her face right now, the damage is pretty much already done. <em>Thanks, Rachel, </em>she thinks, a little bitterly as she opens and reads.</p><p>
  <em>My dear Chloe,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I stopped by the hospital a couple of weeks ago to see if they’d let me in to sit by you for a little while. Totally honestly, I wasn’t expecting they’d let me, but I had to try in case it was the last chance I ever got to see your face. Instead, they told me you were out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I swear I’ve never been happier than when I heard that. I couldn’t believe it at first. You’re alive, Chloe. I must have said those words to myself a hundred times. I’m just so sorry I couldn’t be around to see you wake up. Maybe it’s silly of me, or selfish, to think that we might pick up where we left off. You probably have too many questions for that, but I promise you, they will be answered. Whatever you think or suspect of me, Chloe, I hope you can still believe that I loved you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t think I can write any more. Words can’t express what I’m feeling, Chloe, and I’m only making my own feelings more complicated by trying, so I must leave it for now. I hope we can see each other again soon, if only so I can look into your eyes one more time.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Until that time, all my love and merry Christmas, Chloe Price.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>RA</em>
</p><p>The message is signed off underneath with a few kisses. Below those is a short postscript, a seemingly random string of numbers that Chloe, in her emotional state, takes a few seconds to see for what they really are.</p><p>“She left her number,” she whispers, more to herself than to Max.</p><p>“Are you gonna call her?” Max says, finding her voice.</p><p>Her words are short and blunt, and her tone is a bit too level to be genuine. Her mouth is set in a thin, straight line, her hands are steady and her eyes are dry, but Chloe’s sure she detects just a tiny flicker of hurt in there, and that’s what makes her hesitate as she tries to collect her thoughts and put a response together.</p><p>“I…I don’t know…”</p><p>“You should.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“I said, you should call her,” Max leans against the wall, arms coming up to hug herself. “You want to find out what really happened, right?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but…” Chloe begins, but gets cut off.</p><p>“So, the only way you’re gonna find out is if you talk to Rachel. And it’s pretty obvious just reading this, she really wants to see you again. She <em>loves </em>you, Chloe. She says so, right here,” Max takes the card from Chloe’s hand and points with her finger to illustrate the message. “You’ve been trying to find her for, what, almost nine months now? And now you’re almost there. You can’t just let this chance go by, Chloe.”</p><p>“But what about…”</p><p><em>What about you? </em>is what she wants to say. Once again, Max steps in before she can get the words out.</p><p>“Chloe, I’m being serious. I didn’t know Rachel, but I know <em>you. </em>You need closure, or you’ll spend the rest of your life thinking about what you should have done until you go crazy. I don’t wanna think about you torturing yourself over this any more than you already have. You should call her.”</p><p>That hard edge is still in her voice, at odds with the pain in her eyes that Chloe can see even while she’s trying her best to put up a cool front. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s right, though. If Chloe doesn’t call that number, she’ll regret it, even if the idea of getting back in touch with Rachel keeps twisting at her insides whenever she looks at Max’s face.</p><p>“So, you’re gonna do it?”</p><p>Chloe sighs and nods, trying not to look too much like she’s admitting defeat.</p><p>“Just…not now. I need to think. What am I even gonna say to her?”</p><p>“You’ll figure it out,” Max makes a brave attempt at a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, crosses the kitchen to where Chloe’s standing and pulls her in for a hug.</p><p>There’s a <em>lot </em>going unsaid right now, and Chloe knows it; a part of her wants to walk Max into the living room, sit her down on the couch and just talk until everything she’s feeling, <em>really </em>feeling about the whole Chloe-and-Rachel’s-unfinished-business thing is out in the open. No way is she as cool with it as she’s acting for Chloe’s sake. But how does she even go about getting her to talk? She can’t force her, and if she tries, there’s every chance the situation could go from a little mutual frostiness and frustration to something much uglier. Max isn’t the only one holding shit back, after all.</p><p>The tension filling the kitchen hangs around, even while they hug it out and Chloe does her best not to say anything she might regret. Not for the first time, she finds herself wishing she could have a normal life, not the mess the universe has left her to figure out again. She knows she shouldn’t think like that, dwelling on all the pain and confusion that’s been her existence for the best part of six years now; it only ever leads to more pain, more confusion, tears and the desire to turn back to her old questionable coping methods.</p><p>So she stays quiet and still, pressed up close against Max, wishing she could relax properly, just melt into the hug and let all her pain disappear for a bit.</p><p>“Chloe?” Max pulls away just a little to look up at her. Their eyes meet.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>She tries to feel reassured by that, but that warm, clear-headed feeling she tries so hard to bring up just won’t come. Much later, when all the pizza’s been eaten and they’re snuggled up half-asleep on the couch, she admits to herself that she’s got absolutely no idea what the fuck she’s supposed to do now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Over 750 people have now read something I've written. Combined with hits from my previous (abandoned) work, it's just shy of 1000 total hits, which is fucking insane. Big thanks to everyone who's read so far. As usual, there'll be more chapters when I've written them. Until then, hope you enjoy this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the sixth day of the new year, Chloe drives Max and her luggage back to Blackwell, where she’ll be resuming her classes first thing Monday morning. After sharing a quick goodbye kiss, they sit in the truck’s cab for few silent seconds. A part of Max wants to invite Chloe up to the dorms to spend a little more time together before parting ways, and a part of Chloe feels just a tinge of hurt at not getting such an invitation, even though she knows she’d have to refuse; Joyce is expecting her back for dinner tonight, and Max needs a good night’s sleep before school, which she almost certainly won’t get if they end up sharing a bed again. The past few nights, spent in Chloe’s room, have been memorable to say the least. Chloe smirks contentedly when she thinks about it, and it takes a little of the sting out of watching Max walk away alone.</p><p><em>Abandonment issues much?</em> that mean voice in her head snipes.</p><p>She flicks on the radio as she pulls out of the school parking lot and onto the road back home. When Max is in the car, she usually keeps it quiet out of respect for her girlfriend’s wishes. Max gets anxious with loud music in small spaces, so they fill the silence on their journeys with flirty chat and jokes, just like they always have. When Chloe’s alone, though, she cranks that shit up to eleven and sings along to every song she knows, revelling in the fact that nobody’s around to witness her brutally murdering all her favourite tracks, just because that’s what makes her happy. She lights up a cigarette, hangs her left arm out of the open window while her right keeps the car under control. The cold wind rushing past the speeding truck burns the exposed skin of her hand, but she doesn’t care. To feel pain, you’ve gotta be alive, and Chloe’s felt more alive lately than she has in years. After her dad passed, after Max moved away, after Rachel left, all those things pushed her deeper into a grey bubble of indifference, a cycle of reacting and rebelling but never really feeling anything, unless she tried really hard to let herself. Now, though, it’s all different. Her dad may still be gone – there’s nothing she can do about that – but Max, her best friend, her favourite person in the whole world, is very much around, and Rachel’s…</p><p>Better not to think about that right now. She can sink right back into all that pain and confusion later, when she’s alone and no-one can see her. For now, she’s determined to enjoy her good mood.</p><p>The song on the radio changes, and Chloe picks up her voice to belt out her own energetic rendition of the next track<em>. </em>She tosses her cigarette through the window and fumbles around with the pack on the dashboard for another. Lighting up one-handed, while singing at the top of her lungs is tricky work, but she manages. In that moment, she feels like she can handle just about anything. <em>Chloe Price is back, bitches.</em></p><p>Her sudden good mood lasts all the way home, where she’s greeted in the hall by David’s dog, Trooper, the one he adopted while she was in the hospital. The little black and white mutt trots enthusiastically over as soon as she steps in, looking up with pale eyes full of hope that she might be generous enough to grant him a few ear scratches, or maybe even any food she happens to have on her. Unfortunately, the pockets of her jeans that he jumps up to sniff at aren’t as full of delicious snacks as Trooper would like, but she bends down to pet his shaggy head happily. It’s been a slightly odd experience, getting used to having a dog – her real dad never liked dogs much, so even the idea of having one never came up during her childhood – but Trooper’s easy enough to get along with. What’s stranger to her is the thought of David bringing home a stray dog he found, and even weirder, Joyce allowing to keep it.</p><p>David himself is sat on the couch, half-watching some old cowboy movie over the top of a magazine. Chloe’s never understood the appeal of Westerns, so she doesn’t hang around in the living room except to say hey, something she never would have done before, as simple as it is. Her relationship with her stepdad has changed a lot over the past month, largely – in her view – because David’s changed so much. He’s quieter, calmer, more respectful than she’s ever known him to be. Occasionally, he even tries to be friendly, or as close as he can get to it. Back in less confusing times, that would just make her resent him more, but now she finds she doesn’t mind it as much. She thinks she knows what’s triggered his personality shift; he spent two months facing the prospect of having to bury Chloe, and now that idea doesn’t seem as likely, maybe he’s feeling some guilt about treating her like shit for years. Or maybe it’s something simpler than that, and he just needed a dog all along to bring out what passes for the best in him. Whatever it is, she’ll take it if it keeps him from hassling her every time they’re in the same room.</p><p>Joyce isn’t home yet. With a fair bit of time still to kill before dinner, Chloe heads up to her room, kicks off her boots and lies down on the bed. The card from Rachel – the new one – sits on her desk, open and ready for later, when Chloe will engage in her nightly ritual of staring at it, reading the phone number on the card over and over until she’s memorised it backwards, typing it into her phone, deleting it, re-typing and re-deleting, just like last night.</p><p>She’s not quite got to the point of hitting that little green button and actually calling her yet. Now that Max isn’t here to distract her like she has been since they got back, she’s feeling Rachel’s presence hanging over her again. It’s heavy. The past few days, it’s been easy – no, not easy, exactly, but not <em>too </em>hard – not to let it get to her. Mostly, the bad thoughts have been isolated in small, lonely moments, like when Max was catching up on some reading for when her classes resume, too engrossed to talk. But with Max back at school, David returning to work and Joyce still working, it’s looking like Chloe’s going to spending a lot more time alone, with only her worries for company.</p><p>She <em>needs </em>to call Rachel. She knows that; every time she comes close and chickens out, all she’s really doing is ratcheting up the tension. Part of her wonders if that’s the best way to get through it, just to keep building up the pressure until she can’t take it anymore and just <em>has </em>to call Rachel before she literally explodes. Her self-destructive side thinks she should get wasted, like it usually does, but there’s more of a plan to it this time. Alcohol lowers inhibitions. Maybe Drunk Chloe would work up the courage to succeed where Sober Chloe’s failed. One small snag: she doesn’t <em>want </em>to get wasted. That urge to get fucked-up and out of it so she doesn’t have to think about her shitty life just isn’t there like it used to be. She wants – <em>oh, God – </em>to be <em>sensible </em>about this. That means no drunk-dialling her ex, or whatever Rachel is to her now, which is yet another bit of uncertainty that scratches around in her head when she’s restless and alone.</p><p>Maybe she should get some rest. She did get up super early this morning, for no reason except that she could, and to see the sleepy smile that comes to Max’s face when the first thing she sees in the morning is Chloe watching over her. Maybe she’ll just put her head down, close her eyes for a few minutes, relax and collect her thoughts – they’ve been getting away from her a <em>lot </em>recently – and come back to her problems with a refreshed mind…</p><p>
  <em>“Chloe! Dinner!”</em>
</p><p>“Ugh…” she groans as she sits up. Her bedroom seems to have gotten a lot darker, the only light a thin strip underneath the door. She instinctively reaches for her phone to check the time and discovers that somehow, the few minutes she was going to spend resting her eyes dragged on into a two-hour-plus nap. <em>Fucking great, </em>now she’s not going sleep right tonight.</p><p><em>“Chloe!” </em>Joyce calls again from downstairs.</p><p>“Coming,” Chloe responds, her voice a little groggy.</p><p>She heads to the bathroom first, taking a little time to straighten her hair and clothes, trying to appear as though she hasn’t just woken up at half past six in the evening. Mom will only worry if she thinks Chloe’s falling asleep at random now, and David will probably have something subtle but definitely directed at her to say about the virtues of keeping a proper sleep pattern. Like he’d know anything about that; the guy’s practically nocturnal, has been for as long as she’s known him. When she’s satisfied she doesn’t look like a recently-risen zombie, she quickly downs a cup of cold water to rehydrate her dry throat and heads down to dinner.</p><p>The landing, stairs and hall are all dark – Mom won’t leave lights on when they’re not in use, an energy and money-saving tip she’s practiced ever since Dad died, when the money always seemed close to running out. Chloe’s never bothered to ask if that really makes a difference to the bills. The only effect it has, as far as she can tell, is that the well-lit dining room stings her eyes when she emerges from the gloom, blinking hard.</p><p>“Hey, honey,” Joyce flashes her a smile. “You feeling okay?”</p><p>She’s asked that same question at least four or five times, every day since Chloe woke up. Even through the few days they were apart over Christmas, she found the time to ask via text on a daily basis. Chloe’s patience for it wore thin quickly, and now borders on non-existent, but the smile disarms her. It’s been a long time since her mom offered her those easy, genuine smiles.  </p><p> “Yeah, I’m good,” she mumbles, trying not to let on how much the constant checking in is grating on her.</p><p>“I’m glad,” Joyce says, her smile still in place.</p><p>The table’s already set. It’s the first time they’ve really sat down for dinner as a family in God knows how many months, and it’s clear that means a lot to Joyce, judging by how carefully everything is set out. A brief, absurd spike of something close to guilt jabs into Chloe’s stomach. She makes a mental note not to do anything to ruin this.</p><p>
  <em>Not unless David says something first.</em>
</p><p>He doesn’t. All the way through dinner – homemade chicken parm, a childhood favourite of Chloe’s – hardly a word is said, by anyone. Maybe it’s just because they haven’t got much to say to each other right now, but Chloe finds she doesn’t mind it. These silent family dinners used to be a fucking ordeal; resentment hanging over the table like an ugly grey haze while Chloe kept glancing at the clock on the wall, waiting for the meal to be over so she could slip out, usually to hang out with Rachel, or get wasted with Justin or whoever else might be around if Rachel wasn’t available. Now, though, she’s actually enjoying the calm. It’s not that different to the evenings she spent with Max’s parents over the holidays, except for the small point that Max isn’t sat next to her, blushing and squirming at every other question while Chloe tries not to laugh at her girlfriend’s awkwardness. She wonders what Max is up to right now. She’ll text her after dinner.</p><p>
  <em>While you’re at it, text Rachel.</em>
</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. How, how the absolute <em>fuck </em>hasn’t she thought of that before? All those nights she sat in her room at night, typing the number, letting her thumb hover over the green button before tossing her phone away in frustration, she never came to the incredibly simple conclusion that she could just send a simple text and wait for a reply, or maybe even a call, the opportunity to finally hear Rachel’s voice again without having to go through all the anxiety of making that call herself. God-fucking-dammit, how has she been so <em>stupid?</em></p><p>“Chloe?” her mother’s voice is soft and distant.</p><p>“Huh?” she looks up from her mostly-clean plate to see Joyce looking her over with a definite air of unease.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? You look a little bit like you’re spacing out.”</p><p>She doesn’t think she’s ever heard her mom say the words <em>spacing out </em>before. They’re just not <em>her, </em>but the muted worry in her voice is most definitely <em>her</em>, and now Chloe knows she’ll need to answer quickly and convincingly to avoid adding to it.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she says, taking care to keep her voice light and level. “Just thinking about something.”</p><p>It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth. She’s gotten away with that most of her life, no reason to change her ways now. Joyce doesn’t look totally convinced, but she nods and accepts that Chloe’s answer is as much as she’s going to get without much more pressing. For the sake of keeping the peace over dinner, she leaves it and lets them both go back to their food.</p><p>When dinner’s over and done with, Chloe offers to help her mom with the dishes. She can’t say what makes her offer, but predictably – and thankfully, since she doesn’t actually <em>want </em>to bother with dishes – Joyce graciously declines. David heads off upstairs to change for the night shift at Blackwell. Half an hour later, he’s gone, and Chloe’s alone with her mom, watching TV on the old green couch in the living room.</p><p>“Hey, Chloe?” Joyce turns her attention away from the news.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>There’s something creeping into her voice that Chloe hasn’t heard in a while. Not frustration, not concern at her daughter’s habit of being out at all hours, drinking, taking things and probably hanging out with sketchy character, not even her recently ever-present interest in Chloe’s general wellbeing. Unless Chloe’s very much mistaken, she’s right at this moment being pulled into a serious, adult conversation.</p><p>Which, honestly, is something she’d rather not deal with right now, while she’s just killing time, putting off the still-daunting prospect of hitting Rachel up at last.</p><p>“David and I have been talking,” she begins, then stops herself, “no, actually, I’ve mostly been thinking to myself, but I’ve talked to David, and he agrees…”</p><p><em>Clever. </em>She knows that Chloe will instinctively balk at anything she suggests – and she’s definitely getting at that – if she thinks it’s David’s idea, so Joyce is careful to phrase it as though it was her idea all along, which just happened to fall in line with whatever David thinks. She’s still talking, Chloe notes, and does her best to listen rather than analysing every word.</p><p>“Well, we were really worried, Chloe. Back when you were in the hospital, the doctors were saying you might not…well, you know, or if you did, you weren’t going to be your old self. But, well, you seem fine. You seem great, honey. We’re both so happy that you’re back, and you’re doing really well.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Chloe mumbles uncertainly. Joyce smiles and continues.</p><p>“So, since you’re doing so well, we – <em>I</em> had a thought it might be time for you to start doing something with your life. You’ve had a lot going on the past year, and we’ve both really tried to be understanding, but now you’re looking like you really might be ready to go out and start being an adult.”</p><p><em>Get a job. </em>Those three words never quite emerge from Joyce’s lips, but they’re unmistakeably there. They seem to circle in the air above the couch, or maybe hover threateningly in between the two women as though they might make an official appearance at any moment. <em>Get a job, earn your keep, stop freeloading and do something that doesn’t involve smoking pot and moping around the house all day.</em></p><p>She might not be saying those words, exactly, but a small part of Chloe knows that her mother’s not wrong. She’s not hurting for money, exactly – Max was smart enough to swipe what remained of her cash from her room and keep it hidden for her while she was in hospital – but what she has won’t last forever, and now the strange honeymoon period of being back in the world of the living is coming to an end, she knows she’s going to need to find some way of supporting herself eventually. Whether she has it in her to admit that right now, though, is a different matter.</p><p>“Just, maybe start looking for something, okay? That’s all we’re saying,” Joyce’s smile is still there. Chloe tries to take some reassurance from that. She’s not being badgered, not yet anyway, and she can’t blow up about this without looking like some petulant kid. So instead of adding anything, she just nods and mumbles something about how she’ll check out if anywhere in town’s hiring.</p><p>
  <em>Hiring dropouts with a record and possible brain damage.</em>
</p><p>Fuck it, that’s enough conversation for one night. Chloe excuses herself and makes her way to her room. She pulls out her phone, takes Rachel’s card off her desk and reads the number again, not that she really needs to, as she starts to compose the first text she’s sent her since she went missing.</p><p>What’s she going to say to her? There’s so much she wants to say, ask, tell her, but the thought of actually putting any of that into words makes her head get fuzzy if she dwells on it for too long. There’s just too much for anything other than a real, face-to-face conversation. Unless she wants this message to end up a rambling mess of emotion and random, conflicting sentiments, best to keep it brief and not too deep.</p><p><em>Hey, Rachel, </em>she types with trembling fingers.</p><p>Stupid. She’s sending it to Rachel’s phone, why does she need to say her name like she needs to make it clear who she’s addressing? Try again.</p><p>
  <em>Hi!</em>
</p><p>Too upbeat. It’s not like they’ve been away for a while because of college, or a vacation or whatever. The girl’s been missing, presumed dead for the best part of a year, and Chloe’s been in a coma for some of that time. The small tremor in her hands has mutated into a definite wobble, verging on uncontrollable shakes.</p><p>
  <em>Hello.</em>
</p><p>Ugh. Too formal.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, it’s Chloe.</em>
</p><p>That’s okay, isn’t it? Rachel might not have Chloe’s number on her new phone, so no harm in making sure she knows who’s texting her out of the blue. Good. Now what?</p><p>
  <em>Hey, it’s Chloe. You gave me your number.</em>
</p><p>Stupid <em>again</em>. Rachel knows she gave Chloe her number. She hand-wrote it on a fucking Christmas card and probably stuck it through the door in person while the house sat dark and empty. In Chloe’s experience, you tend to remember that kind of thing, especially when it’s a big, emotional gesture, a step towards reconnecting after a long time apart and not just a prelude to a potential hookup. She drops the phone for a second and shakes her hands out to beat back the encroaching shivers.</p><p><em>Hey, it’s Chloe. Thanks for giving me your number. </em>Better. <em>If you’re in town, it’d be cool – </em>no, not <em>cool </em>– <em>it’d be awesome to see you again. </em></p><p>Is that it? Can she just send that, without adding anything more? Can she, in fact, send it at all?</p><p>She drops her phone with the message typed out, shuts her eyes, breathes deeply; in through her nose, out through her mouth, trying to ignore everything that’s starting to bubble up behind the calm front she’s been putting on since getting back and finding the card. After ten controlled breaths, she wipes her sweaty palms on the rough material of her jeans and reaches out for her phone. The text is still there, months of uncertainty, heartbreak, longing and fear condensed in twenty short words.</p><p>
  <em>Send.</em>
</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>it’s done. For better or worse, she’s gotten in touch with Rachel like she said she would, like she promised Max, who’s frankly been unnervingly adamant that Chloe <em>needed </em>to do this. Whatever happens now, Chloe’s held up her end of the deal, and Rachel will get back in her own time. She wonders if it should feel like an accomplishment. It doesn’t, but she has to admit, it’s nice to be able to look forward to a night’s sleep without it rattling around her skull for once.</p><p>A wave of exhaustion crashes over her as she flops on her back, the old bed creaking a little under her weight. It’s done, she’s done it. No need to worry anymore, until some new fucked-up thing rears its ugly head. She guesses she can cross that bridge when she comes to it, right? It’s mostly worked as a strategy so far, except for the time that creep Mark Jefferson shot her in the head. Even then, you could argue it all worked out in the end. She’s alive and he’s in prison. That’s gotta be a win in anyone’s book.</p><p>
  <em>Buzz.</em>
</p><p>That was quick. <em>Shit</em>. She snaps into a seated position, scrambling for her phone. Her hands start to shake all over again, but when she reads the name on the screen, she breathes an audible sigh of relief.</p><p>
  <em>One new message: Max.</em>
</p><p><em>You up? </em>it reads. Of course she’s up. It’s not even ten o’clock yet.</p><p><em>Yeah, </em>she punches out her reply. <em>Whassup at Blackwell?</em></p><p><em>Missing you, </em>reads Max’s quick response. That draws a smile on Chloe’s lips. <em>Got pizza with Kate. Now chilling.</em></p><p>The message comes complete with a picture of Max, grinning widely, sat cross-legged on the floor of a room which isn’t hers. Kate Marsh smiles shyly at her side, while her black and white rabbit – what’s her name? – is curled up in Max’s lap. There’s nothing special about that photo, but it’s cute, and it pulls Chloe’s own smile a little wider. More importantly, it gives her a line of attack to tease her girlfriend and provide a welcome distraction from mulling over her conversation with Joyce earlier, which would otherwise be all there is left to do, now she’s successfully overcome the first part of the Rachel situation.</p><p>
  <em>Found out who Katie’s fuckin yet?</em>
</p><p>She smirks as she sends it, bringing up the mental image of Max blushing when she next checks her phone. Maybe she’s even still in Kate’s room, which of course only makes the idea of getting her flustered over it all the better.</p><p><em>No, </em>comes the reply. She imagines it in Max’s best attempt at a stern voice. A couple more messages come in, in quick succession, the way Max always breaks down her texts when she’s trying to respond as fast as she can.</p><p>
  <em>I’m not gonna do that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you better not either.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Or else &gt;:(</em>
</p><p><em>NO EMOJI, </em>Chloe shoots back. She shifts her body so she’s lying on her front, her feet resting on the pillows at the top of her bed while she props her upper body up on her elbows near the foot.</p><p>
  <em>OR ELSE &gt;:(   &gt;:(</em>
</p><p>The smirk hasn’t left Chloe’s face yet. Teasing Max has always been fun, but now that they’re together and Max has found some of her confidence, it’s a much more level playing field. Max gives as good as she gets, or tries to, and does pretty good at pushing Chloe’s buttons considering her disadvantage in experience. The emojis piss Chloe off just enough that these silly little verbal duels aren’t completely one-sided.</p><p>
  <em>Or else what?</em>
</p><p><em>Fuck around and find out, </em>Max replies threateningly. Chloe pictures Max next to her, leaning over, eyes narrowed. Maybe she’s on her hands and knees, crawling up the length of the bed slowly, stalking, sizing up her chances, preparing to pounce…</p><p>Without her noticing at first, Chloe’s hips have started to move, bouncing up and down against the mattress in a steady rhythm. <em>Oh, okay. Guess this is happening, </em>she thinks. It wasn’t her intention to get into that kind of mood right now, not <em>really, </em>anyway, but she can’t help what that mental image of Max advancing over the bed does to her. The swell of heat in her middle will still be there, whether or not she wants it. Healthier, mentally and physically, to accept it. It was a distraction she wanted, and Max, maybe without meaning to – even after knowing her basically all her life, Chloe’s never quite sure with that girl – has given her one even more distracting that she was hoping for.</p><p>She lets her hips keep going as she takes a moment to put together her next message. Max hasn’t really given her anywhere to go, just trying to shut her up with a playful but very clear warning. Chloe can’t help but think it was a bit overkill; she’s obviously not going to pester Kate about her sex life, she barely even talks to the girl, and when she does, Max is always there. God, she can just imagine bringing it up with both of them present. She wonders how many words in she could get before Max jumped on her and clamped a hand over her mouth, or maybe smothered her with a kiss. <em>Fuck, that’s hot.</em></p><p>Time’s ticking on. It’s now a few minutes since Max’s text, and Chloe knows that leaving her hanging won’t do anything good for her anxiety, not even if she later comes up with a great excuse like <em>sorry, I started thinking about stuff and basically masturbating, my bad</em>. She wonders for a moment longer and eventually types out <em>Thinking about you, </em>adding a kiss on the end for extra effect. It’s not untrue.</p><p><em>Oh yeah? </em>Max’s reply is quick as usual, and followed by another message, again, in typical Caulfield style.</p><p>
  <em>I might have thought about you earlier.</em>
</p><p><em>Holy shit, </em>has she picked up on the subtext, and if so, is she getting at what Chloe thinks she’s getting at?</p><p>
  <em>In my bed. Alone.</em>
</p><p>She is. Max just admitted to touching herself while thinking of Chloe.</p><p>It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Chloe’s done the same thing. Hell, she’s touched Max, and Max has touched her, a few times now. Masturbating to thoughts of each other is just a normal thing for couples to do while they’re horny and apart, right? So why are her cheeks starting to flush? Why is the smoulder between her legs suddenly building to an inferno, and why can she swear she actually feels the fingers of her left hand tingling, urging her to take care of business?</p><p><em>Brb, gotta think about you some more, </em>she fires off a final text. Max will understand. She’d better.</p><p>Her phone is carefully set down on the nightstand. She won’t be texting anyone for a while. After checking the door’s locked – Joyce <em>probably </em>won’t walk in on her, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful in these situations – and getting comfortable on the bed, she wriggles out of her skinny jeans and tosses them to the floor before reaching down to test the waters through the fabric of the dark purple boxers she pulled on this morning.</p><p>“Ah…” she hears herself gasp as her finger comes into contact with that spot where the heat is most intense. The result is instantaneous; her hips jump a few inches in the air like she’s been shocked, and more hot, powerful feelings course through her body, starting right there and spreading through her. A few more exploratory touches and she’s getting almost uncomfortably aroused. Unable to tease herself any longer, she picks up her hips and draws her shorts down her long legs, taking note of the darker patch in the middle of her boxers. Her teeth catch her lower lip, biting down hard as her left hand descends on wet, bare skin…</p><p>
  <em>Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p><p> It’s all she can do not to scream in frustration at the sudden, unwelcome interruption. She blames herself for not putting her phone on silent, but mostly she blames whoever the shit is calling her at this hour. If it’s anything other than a matter of utmost importance that absolutely, positively can’t wait until a more convenient time, she’s literally going to hunt them down and kill them.</p><p>Still naked from the waist down, she rolls over with a heavy sigh and grabs for her phone, practically shoving her thumb right through the little green button without even looking at the caller ID.</p><p>“Hello?” she doesn’t even try to keep her exasperation out of her voice.</p><p>
  <em>“Chloe?”</em>
</p><p>“Oh, my God…”</p><p>It’s Rachel.</p><p>
  <em>“Chloe! Oh, my God, Chloe!”</em>
</p><p>“Rachel!”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh…”</em>
</p><p>From the faint sounds that are heard in place of speech, it’s clear that Rachel’s crying down the phone. Chloe wonders where she is. There’s no background noise as far as she can tell; Rachel could be anywhere.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. It’s really you, isn’t it?”</em>
</p><p>“Hold up, lemme check,” Chloe quips and gets rewarded with what sounds like a small, tearful laugh. “Yep, pretty sure it’s me.”</p><p>There’s more crying, mingled with laughter, and it’s only during that break in the conversation that Chloe realises her own cheeks are wet with tears. A sudden feeling of self-consciousness comes over her. If she’d known she’d be getting this call, she definitely would have put on some pants, or maybe just kept hers on a little while longer. Still holding the phone to her ear, she opens a drawer one-handed and fishes out a clean pair of panties, pulling them up a little awkwardly, wiggling her hips as she stands.</p><p>“So, uh…how you doing?” she asks, knowing full well how inadequate that must sound for their first conversation in so long, especially with everything that’s happened while they’ve been apart.</p><p><em>“Oh, I’m fine, you know,” </em>Rachel says between sniffles. <em>“I’ve kinda had a few things going on since everything, but I’m still around. Like you.”</em></p><p>“Are you in town now?” Chloe’s standing up, pacing the room. She could be so close, she could possibly be within hours of seeing Rachel again, which right now feels like the only thing that matters.</p><p><em>“Not right now,” </em>says Rachel. <em>Shit. “But I can be soon. Like, maybe the week after next, if you wanna see each other again.”</em></p><p>Chloe wants nothing more than that. During those nights when she’d lie awake running over an imagined call with Rachel in her head, she always thought she’d have a shitload of questions – she still does, but she could only imagine them all spilling out over the phone. Now, though, with a clear head, she knows she can only ask them directly to her old friend’s face.</p><p>“Sure! Um, so, where are you now?”</p><p>
  <em>“Probably best if we don’t get into that right now.”</em>
</p><p>Classic Rachel, keeping things vague. She always did love drama. Is she just being enigmatic for the sake of it, or is there something deeper there?</p><p>
  <em>“I promise, I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back in town, okay? Then we can get together again, if you’re free.”</em>
</p><p>“I’ll be free,” Chloe says, placing a hand on the desk to steady herself as her legs start to tremble with anxiety and anticipation. “Just let me know. There’s…there’s so much we need to talk about.”</p><p>On the other end of the line, silence falls and settles in, not even broken by the sound of quiet sobs this time around. Chloe’s said the wrong thing, she knows it; nobody ever says <em>we need to talk </em>unless there’s something bad. After all this time, getting so fucking close, she’s scared Rachel off. She turns away from the phone to growl with frustration at herself. She could just smash her phone against the wall, or maybe her head.</p><p><em>“I bet,” </em>Rachel says at last.</p><p>Relief washes through Chloe’s body like something warm and clean. Rachel’s still there.</p><p>
  <em>“I will let you know, as soon as I can get back. I promise.”</em>
</p><p>“I’ll be there,” says Chloe, now biting her lip to keep her voice from shaking. “I promise, I’ll be there. It’s…” she falters, takes a breath, picks herself up again, “it’s been so awesome, hearing your voice again, Rachel.”</p><p>
  <em>“You have no idea. Look, um, I really have to go right now. Gotta be up early tomorrow. I promise, I’ll see you real soon.”</em>
</p><p>“Sure,” Chloe smiles. More tears sneak out from between the lids of her closed eyes. “Goodnight, Rachel.”</p><p>
  <em>“Goodnight, Price. Love you.”</em>
</p><p>Those last words ring in Chloe’s ears long after Rachel ends the call. She lets her legs give up at last and sits down heavily on her bed.</p><p>What does she feel?</p><p>Not much, it turns out. Or maybe too much, everything cancelling out the other things, leaving her numb and lightheaded as she stares blankly at the desk a few feet away. She’s finally there. Months, almost a year spent trying to find Rachel, and now she’s finally there. They’ll be seeing each other again soon. Maybe as soon as next week. All Chloe’s questions, or at least some of them, are going to be answered, and more importantly, she’s going to see Rachel Amber again, not just in a photo, not just read some words she’s written, but actually look in her eyes, reach out and touch her warm skin, hug her and finally get some closure on what the fuck’s been going on with her since April of last year, and…</p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit.</em>
</p><p>She’ll have to come clean to Rachel about Max. First, she’ll have to come clean to Max about Rachel. If she was prepared to bet on it, she’d guess that Max will be understanding, as far as she possibly can, like she normally is. Guessing Rachel’s reaction is a bit more complicated. If she still wants a relationship, or whatever it was they had before, things could get messy. <em>Buzz. </em>Her phone.</p><p>
  <em>One new message: Max.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope you enjoyed yourself. Gotta get some sleep before class. Night xx</em>
</p><p>The fire in Chloe’s core has long since burned out. She resolves to talk to Max as soon as she can – tomorrow after school, if she’s free – and sets her phone down again, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling with everything and nothing on her mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been a little while. This chapter's a bit more introspective, I think, but I hope you all enjoy it. As always, thank you so much to everyone who's read, commented, liked the story so far. I hope I can continue to please you amazing people.</p><p>Next chapter coming whenever. I'd love to say that will be soon, but as you may have noticed, I've been a tad inconsistent with updates. So, yeah, whenever. Hold onto your hats, because shit is about to get a lot stranger. You might almost say...Hella Strange. (Okay, I'll stop now.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday mornings aren’t a good time for being up early, in Chloe’s book. Not unless you wake up in someone else’s room and need to get home quick before Mom or Sergeant Dickhole figure out where you’ve been. Technically, Chloe is waking up in a different bed than her own – Max’s, to be specific – but there’s no need to rush back home. Quite the opposite. Her plans for the day hinge on her being here, for now at least. And she’s not looking forward to it one bit. Of all the strangeness she’s been through since waking up last month, today might just be her weirdest experience to date.</p><p>The display on her phone reads four minutes past eight. <em>Great</em>. She already needs to get a move on. Carefully, so as not to wake the girl beside her, she shimmies out from under the warm comforter and climbs over Max’s sleeping form in the dark. Even with the heater on, the air in the quiet room is cold on her bare skin, making her shiver slightly as she dresses in clean clothes from a rucksack on the floor. In pulling on her boots, she almost trips over something on the floor and reaches out hurriedly to steady herself against the nearest solid object. Her palm lands on something soft which lets out a surprised, groggy noise that turns quickly into a pained whine.</p><p>“Shit!” Chloe half whispers. “Max, I’m sorry…”</p><p>“What the fuck?” Max’s voice is heavy with sleep, but the edge of annoyance still rings clear.</p><p>“Sorry,” Chloe repeats, trying to find Max’s hand.</p><p>“If you want to wake me up, you could just nudge me or something, instead of punching me in the boob, asshole!”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to…”</p><p>“It hurt,” Max almost snaps. Even in the darkness of the room, blinds drawn over the early winter morning outside the window, Chloe can clearly make out the shape of Max’s body as she rolls over and turns her back on Chloe.</p><p><em>Well, your fucked-up day’s off to a great start, </em>her anxiety chimes in. She takes a deep breath through her nose and reaches out to touch Max’s arm. Max doesn’t seem to react, but doesn’t try to pull away either, so she guesses it could be worse.</p><p>“Max, I’m sorry. Really,” she tries to keep her voice calm against the sea of raging emotion that wants to scream about how it wasn’t her fucking fault, it was an accident and maybe Max shouldn’t be a bitch about it, or maybe just fall on her knees and beg forgiveness because Max is the best thing in her life and she can’t bear the thought of upsetting her, even over something brief and trivial like this.</p><p>“I know,” Max mumbles, voice still low and grumpy.</p><p>“I don’t wanna leave while you’re pissed off at me,” Chloe whispers. “Today’s probably gonna be bad enough, and I don’t need to worry about us on top of everything else.”</p><p><em>Shit, </em>maybe that came out wrong. Definitely a bit more selfish than she really wanted to sound; she was going for genuine contrition and ended up with <em>think about me, not yourself</em> and what feels like an all-too-real chance of just making the situation worse.</p><p>“I’m not pissed off at you,” says Max to the wall. “Don’t worry.”</p><p><em>Yep, worse</em>. <em>Don’t worry </em>is usually all Chloe needs before she starts worrying. She inhales, slow and deep, and tries for a few seconds to come up with something to say, but the words won’t come, and judging by Max’s body language, she isn’t getting any more conversation out of her this morning. The goodbye kiss she was hoping to get before leaving is obviously totally out of the question, so instead she just squeezes Max’s arm for a second and picks up her rucksack before stepping out into the dark hall.</p><p>The dorm is silent, like it was the last time Chloe visited, just before Christmas. This time, she knows the other girls are around, but they’ve all – all but one, that is – got the right idea about cold weekend mornings and haven’t emerged from their rooms yet. On her way to the stairs she overhears a couple of voices, quiet behind a closed door. Somebody’s enjoying a little early-morning gossip. Chloe wonders briefly if it might have anything to do with her visit to Max’s room, or the frequent nights Max spends at Chloe’s place. Not that she really cares if it does; they’re not exactly secretive about their relationship, after all, and people can and will talk about whatever the fuck they please. It does worry her a little how Max might react to being gossiped about, but then again, she has to remind herself that Maxine Caulfield is a lot tougher than she seems. Come to think of it, Max might actually be tougher than <em>Chloe </em>seems, and almost definitely tougher than Chloe actually is, in her own way. All the shit she must have been through that Chloe missed…</p><p>Her mind’s wandering, getting away from the task at hand. That’s not going to help. She needs to stay focused, stay in control of her thoughts and not think too much about how fucking weird this day already is, or how much weirder and nerve-wracking it’s probably going to get. She stops to get a hold of herself on her way to Blackwell’s parking lot, where her rusty old truck is waiting. It’s not her own vehicle she’ll be taking today, though. Instead, she crosses the asphalt to a much newer, cleaner, shinier car, one purchased with a shitload of money and definitely not found in a junkyard. Its owner is leaning on the hood, wrapped up in a designer winter coat over a black cashmere sweater.</p><p>“You took your time,” Victoria Chase says, fixing Chloe with the same imperious look she always wore during the time they spent together at the academy.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry about that,” Chloe doesn’t care how insincere her apology might sound. There are bigger things at stake here.</p><p>“Well, you’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,” says Victoria.</p><p>She sucks the last drag from her cigarette and drops the smouldering butt on the ground. As Chloe walks around the car to the passenger side door, Victoria stops her.</p><p>“Before you set foot in my car, we need to go over some ground rules,” she says.</p><p>“Sure…” Chloe takes a step back from the door.</p><p>“Firstly, this is <em>my </em>car. As long as you’re in it, or anywhere near it, you treat it with respect. It’s probably worth more than everything you own combined. If you damage it, or get it dirty, or do anything to it, you better get it fixed.”</p><p><em>This is priceless, </em>Chloe thinks, and tries not to smirk as Victoria presses on.</p><p>“Second, I control the radio, the heat, where we stop, if we stop at all on the way…in fact, I control everything. You’re just a passenger.”</p><p>“Look, if you don’t want me in your ride, just say that,” Chloe interrupts. “I’ll follow you.”</p><p>“Oh, no. I’m not taking a chance on having to wait around for you when that thing,” she gestures dismissively to Chloe’s truck, “breaks down halfway there.”</p><p>“It got me all the way to Seattle,” Chloe says, her temper starting to rise as she leaps to her vehicle’s defence. “She’s reliable.”</p><p>“I’m sure she’s as reliable as you are subtle, Price. You either ride with me, or you’re not coming at all, and you can go back to your girlfriend’s bed. Choose.”</p><p>It’s a simple enough choice. Rachel’s not gotten in touch to say when she might be back in Arcadia – or at all, really – since that phone call on the sixth. Over two weeks have passed since then, and Chloe needs answers. If Rachel’s not around to give them, there’s only one other place she might find what she’s after, and unfortunately, Victoria Chase is the only way to get there.</p><p>“I’ll ride with you, Chase,” she concedes. “All done with your rules?”</p><p>“One more,” Victoria’s voice changes abruptly, no longer her standard blend of arrogant and bitchy, but quiet and deadly serious. “This isn’t some fun little day out. This is serious. You’re going to be respectful and not do anything stupid or crazy. I’m already bending the rules enough as it is just by bringing you along. If you screw this up, I’m going to be in a whole world of shit, and I swear to God I will find a way to make you pay. So, you will fucking behave yourself. Clear?”</p><p>“Crystal.”</p><p>“Then get your ass in the car.”</p><p>The seats are leather – real leather – and the car’s interior is spotless. How the hell does Victoria keep her car this clean? She must pay almost as much as the thing’s worth for cleaning, Chloe muses as she clicks her seatbelt into place.</p><p>“It’s a good couple hours’ drive,” Victoria says, turning the key in the ignition. The engine doesn’t splutter and struggle like Chloe’s pickup, but comes to life instantly with a low purr.</p><p>After fifteen minutes of near-total silence, Chloe fishes her headphones from inside her leather jacket and plugs them into her ears. She can’t exactly blame Victoria for not wanting to make small talk. It would probably only get more awkward if either of them tried – they’ve got nothing in common and nothing to talk about, without even getting into how they’ve more or less hated each other for years – so it’s easier to just zone out and watch the tall trees that flank the road whipping by as Victoria’s car takes them through the green countryside past Arcadia Bay.</p><p>It’s a pretty enough day. Chloe bets there’s no end of great photo opportunities waiting to be found out here; Max would love it.</p><p><em>If we get through all this, I should bring her out here for a date, </em>she thinks to herself. She wonders if Victoria’s thinking along the same lines about this stretch of countryside’s artistic potential. If Chloe knew enough about photography, she might try to spark up some kind of conversation around it, but that’s Max’s thing, and the time they spend together isn’t usually spent discussing the finer points of Max’s passion. Occasionally she’ll notice something, or Chloe will mention something that inspires her and she’ll forget to be anxious for a while, let her inner art nerd free and go off on a long, excitable monologue that only stops when she catches herself and gets shy again. Chloe teases her over it, but honestly, it’s one of the things she finds most endearing about her girlfriend. It’s how she’d like to remember Max at all times, not the pained, pissed-off girl she left earlier.</p><p>“Hey,” Victoria nudges her, some unspecified amount of time later.</p><p>“What?” Chloe fishes one headphone out of her ear.</p><p>“Almost here. Time to act normal, if you can manage it.”</p><p>Chloe bites back an angry retort. This isn’t going to be pleasant, but if it’s going to remain bearable, she can’t afford to get on Victoria’s bad side right now. She unplugs her headphones and stows them in their designated pocket as the car turns a tight corner.</p><p>A small cluster of buildings come into view. A sign on top of a low wall reads <em>Lodge Hill Hospital. Christ, this is really it, </em>Chloe thinks. Victoria pulls up in front of the building in the middle of the cluster, kills the engine, sighs deeply and turns to Chloe.</p><p>“You still want to do this?” she says, voice quiet and edged with something close to kindness.</p><p>“I need to,” Chloe says. “He knows I’m coming, right?”</p><p>“I told him you might be. He’s…I guess not thrilled about it, but I think he’ll talk to you, if you don’t push him too hard. Just try to remember, he was a victim, same as everyone else.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say,” Chloe snaps, unable to stop herself. After being literally shot in the head, it’s a little hard to think of anyone else as a victim of Mark Jefferson the same as her.</p><p>“You have no idea,” Victoria says with a small shake of her head. “Come on.”</p><p>Chloe’s heart starts to pick up its pace as they leave the car. It’s another step into the unknown for her, but Victoria makes the short trip across the lot and through the building’s doors calmly as if this is a regular Saturday for her.</p><p>The interior is clean and clinical, with pristine carpets and a few tall, probably fake plants dotted around the reception area. Victoria leads Chloe to a desk in the middle of the room and gets the attention of a pretty brunette woman in glasses and smart casual clothing, who greets her with a warm smile. They talk like old friends for a good few minutes; Chloe doesn’t pay much attention until the woman pushes a pad and pen across the desk toward her.</p><p>“Since you’re a new visitor, I need you to sign in,” she says, turning that smile on Chloe. “Hospital policy.”</p><p>“Just do it,” Victoria hisses from the corner of her mouth.</p><p>After a moment’s hesitation, Chloe scribbles her name down on the sign-in sheet and hands it back to the still-smiling receptionist.</p><p>“Room two,” she says.</p><p>Victoria sets off, with Chloe in tow, down a hallway to their allocated visiting room. Must be nice, Chloe thinks, getting so much privacy in a place like this. She’s never been in a mental hospital before, but she’s sure this isn’t the standard for these places. Seems like money really does open all kinds of doors, no matter what you’ve done or who you’ve done it to.</p><p>Room two is nicer than the living room at Chloe’s house, decorated the same as the lobby, only with bigger windows and comfortable armchairs set out around a small, round table in the middle of the room. One of those chairs is already taken. The sight of its occupant sends a wave of disgust and anger through Chloe. Nathan Prescott is sitting less than twenty feet away from her, alive and apparently well and, while not exactly free, still a shitload more comfortable than he has any right to be.</p><p>
  <em>He didn’t kill Rachel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he still did all that other shit.</em>
</p><p>“Tori,” Nathan looks up as they enter the room.</p><p>“Hey, you,” Victoria’s thin mouth curves into a genuine smile. “You’re looking good.”</p><p>He’s not, Chloe thinks. When he stands up to hug the blonde, Chloe sees how much thinner Nathan’s looking now – and he was never exactly well-built before all the shit that saw him sent here. His wiry red hair is a little longer than she’s seen it, and a thin layer of ginger fuzz clings to his hollow cheeks and jaw. And yet, the embrace he’s sharing with Victoria, and the smile he gives her when they come apart, looks as real as any show of emotion Chloe’s ever seen. For the first time, she’s coming dangerously close to viewing the little shit from her Blackwell days as a real person.</p><p>“No, I’m not,” he mutters, still smiling as he turns away from her, looking at his other visitor for the first time. “Hey, Chloe.”</p><p>The greeting is polite without being warm, but even that little flash of humanity is enough to freeze Chloe for a few seconds. All the time she spent believing he killed Rachel and even after that, her thoughts were consumed with the idea of getting her hands on Nathan. Now, face to face with the young man in front of her, the hatred leaves her veins in an instant. What’s that she’s feeling now, gnawing away at the bottom of her chest?</p><p>Pity. She’s actually feeling <em>sorry </em>for Nathan Prescott, and she hates it, even more than she hates Nathan himself. She’s just thankful she doesn’t to dwell on that right now.</p><p>“Hey,” she nods.</p><p>“Tori said you wanted to talk to me.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Chloe says, feeling increasingly unsure of herself. Whatever she was expecting from today, this isn’t it.</p><p>“Well, I feel like I have to owe you that much, at least,” Nathan says. “You wanna sit down?”</p><p>Chloe lowers herself into one of the armchairs; Victoria takes the one immediately to Chloe’s right, while Nathan sits across the table from them both. Doubt sets in right away. Are Nathan and Victoria going to whatever passes for a normal visit first, or is this her cue to start firing away with no preamble? A short silence falls over the room before Victoria glances over at Chloe and nods.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck it, here we go.</em>
</p><p>“Victoria’s right,” Chloe begins. “I’ve got some questions I need to ask you.”</p><p>“Go ahead,” says Nathan.</p><p>After a deep breath, during which it becomes clear that no-one else is going to speak until Chloe does, she steels herself and proceeds with the mission.</p><p>“I know Rachel’s alive,” she says. Nathan’s only response is a slow nod and a knowing look that creeps into his eyes. <em>So, </em>she thinks, <em>he did have something to do with it</em>. “But the papers said, when the cops questioned you, you admitted you killed her.”</p><p>“I did admit that,” he says.</p><p>Nathan’s left hand wanders almost unconsciously to the surface of the table, where he lays it flat. Victoria brings up her own hand and places it there, next to Nathan’s. Their fingers hook around each other.</p><p>“And they never said you changed your story, even after they found out that girl you buried in the junkyard wasn’t her.”</p><p>“There was no point,” Nathan shrugs. “They took one look at my medical records and decided I’d never survive in prison, and sent me here instead. By the time that story got out, that it wasn’t Rachel, I was already here, and my dad’s paying a lot for nobody to bother me while I’m here.”</p><p>“Why admit it in the first place, if you didn’t do it?”</p><p>As she waits for him, Chloe’s eyes flick over to Nathan and Victoria’s hands. Two of his fingers are looped around three of hers, and he’s squeezing her digits like a stress ball, but if he’s hurting Victoria, she’s not letting it show on her face.</p><p>“I had to stick to the story,” he says at last. “If I’d told them what really happened, they’d never have believed me, and I’d probably have ended up in a worse nuthouse than this one.”</p><p>“What do you mean, what really happened?” Chloe’s heart is jackhammering inside her chest. Her hands are shaking, and before she knows it she’s risen halfway out of her chair as she leans across the table into Nathan’s face.</p><p>“Chloe, sit down,” Victoria snaps suddenly. Whether the anger and frustration in her voice is actually a result of Chloe’s actions or Nathan’s vice grip on her fingers, she doesn’t know, but she’s quick to obey once she catches sight of Nathan’s frightened face. All the nights she spent wishing she could put the fear of God into the little fucker, she never once imagined how stupid and guilty that would actually make her feel.</p><p>“I’m…I’m sorry,” she takes every care to keep her voice quiet and level. “But I need you tell me what really happened to Rachel. Can you do that? Please?”</p><p>The last word stings on the way out. She shouldn’t be begging anything from the boy who tried to kill her, who probably would have succeeded, too, if not for Max.</p><p>“I only know some of it,” Nathan mumbles.</p><p>“So, tell me what you know.”</p><p> He sighs, shuts his eyes, releases his grip on Victoria and brings both hands up to cover his face, but Chloe doesn’t press him anymore. She knows she’s got him. He must have been expecting this from the moment he agreed to meet with her, and he’s going to talk. If she has to wait for him to compose himself, well, it’s a small price to pay. Everything she’s been through – well, almost everything, not counting the bullet or the coma – is a pitifully small price for learning what really went down all those months ago with Rachel. She looks over at Victoria, who’s watching Nathan with concern and sympathy written across her face. She never takes her eyes off him to glance back at Chloe. Minutes pass before, finally, Nathan straightens up in his chair and takes Victoria’s hand again. Chloe snaps to attention.</p><p>
  <em>Here we go…</em>
</p><p>“It was a few days before anybody last saw her,” he says, his voice thin and shaky. “She…Rachel…came and found me after class one day. I owed her a favour, for hooking me up with Frank, and…and some other stuff, and she said she needed to call it in. Said she needed to disappear, get where nobody would find her, especially not…not him.”</p><p>“Jefferson,” Chloe mutters darkly. Victoria gives an almost imperceptible twitch at the name, while Nathan just nods and drags in a shuddering breath. His eyes are full of tears.</p><p>“So, we came up with a plan. The only way we could think of, to make sure he wouldn’t try to find her, was if he thought she was…she was dead. So, we made it look like she was. That…that girl, i-in the j-junkyard…”</p><p>“Who was she?” Chloe interrupts, and to his credit, Nathan doesn’t flinch as he answers.</p><p>“Some girl from out of town. OD’d, or something, ended up in the morgue at the police station. We paid off some cops and snuck her out one night. Rachel made me track down her family and we paid them off too, real well. Said we owed them, since they weren’t gonna get a proper funeral for their kid.”</p><p><em>Jesus Christ, </em>mutters the little voice in her head, <em>what the fuck did Rachel get herself into? </em>A wave of nausea is creeping up on her, and it’s all she can do to hold it down and keep listening.</p><p>“Then, we set the whole thing up to look like…well, you saw what it looked like. I called him and told him I’d fucked up with Rachel. We dressed the girl up like Rachel, wrapped her up in trash bags and hid her in my car. She really looked like her, too, if you didn’t look too closely. Rachel got out of there, I don’t know where she want, but she sounded like she was going somewhere far enough away nobody’d know her. Never saw her again.”</p><p>
  <em>Only now she’s back, or something like it.</em>
</p><p>“Jefferson showed up that night,” Nathan continues, unaware of Victoria’s reaction to the name. “We drove out to the junkyard, and we buried her, and he said he’d make the whole thing go away if I could just keep quiet about it, and that was it.”</p><p>Victoria’s no longer looking at her old friend. Her green eyes are firmly fixed on the patch of carpet between her feet, and from what little Chloe can see of her face, she seems to be fighting the urge to scream, run away or throw up. Completely out of nowhere, Nathan chuckles.</p><p>“He bought it,” he says, almost a whisper. “I never thought he would. I thought I was gonna have to deal with him, too, but he bought it. That fucker bought it, and he never suspected a thing.”</p><p>His laughter suddenly intensifies, loud enough to make Victoria look up from her shoes. Her hand hovers in mid-air for a second as if she might reach out to touch him, but the palpable air of insanity rising off him puts her off.</p><p>“Nate, you’re scaring me,” she says, pleading, as his laughter creeps towards hysterical.</p><p>“He bought it,” Nathan repeats. “He fucking bought it.”</p><p>“Maybe we should go?” Chloe whispers to Victoria.</p><p>“You think?” the blonde hisses. “Nate, honey, please calm down.”</p><p>Maybe it’s the fear in her voice that does it, or the way she sets her hand gently on his shoulder, but after a time, Nathan seems to come to his senses, at least enough to stop laughing long enough to exchange goodbyes with Victoria. Chloe doesn’t bother. She’s feeling sick enough without pretending to get pally with Nathan Prescott.</p><p>They sign out back at the front desk and return to Victoria’s car, both walking notably faster than they did on the way in. In spite of the clinically clean surroundings, Chloe’s seized by the singular desire for a very long, scalding hot shower.</p><p>How the hell could Rachel do that, and how the fuck did she get Nathan to go along with it?</p><p>The second part’s pretty obvious, really. She was, simply, Rachel Amber; her talents were many, but the most impressive among them was her knack for getting people to do her bidding, whether it was a simple thing like cutting class, taking the rap for her indiscretions, or something more complicated, like uncovering her family’s deeply buried secrets. Apparently, her gift for persuasion also works for body-snatching and faking a murder. But thinking about Rachel masterminding the whole thing – and Chloe has no doubt she <em>was </em>the brains of the operation, Nathan just a willing accomplice – makes Chloe sick to her stomach.</p><p>“Smoke?” Victoria’s voice snaps Chloe out of it. She’s holding out a glossy pack of expensive cigarettes, not the cheap brands Chloe normally goes for.</p><p>“Sure I’m allowed to smoke in your fancy car?” Chloe half-teases.</p><p>“After that, I really don’t give a shit if you’re smoking meth in my car, Price,” Victoria jabs the pack at her again. Her hand is shaking and her eyes, Chloe notices, are wet and rimmed with red. Has she been crying the whole time they’ve been sat in here, while Chloe got lost in her thoughts?</p><p>“Thanks,” Chloe takes a cigarette from the pack and lights up.</p><p>“Fuck me…” Victoria lights her own smoke with a silver lighter and leans forward to rest her head on the steering wheel. Chloe gets a stab of guilt somewhere between her heart and stomach. She never even considered, until now, what it must have been like for Victoria to see Nathan like that. Whether or not it was Chloe’s questioning that pushed him into hysterics, or something deeper that he just needed to get out of his system, it can’t have been comfortable. They were friends, they still are, somehow, judging by how Victoria’s clearly a regular at this place.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry,” she says, in an attempt at understanding. “I swear, if I’d thought it was gonna make him do that, I would have just shut the fuck up.”</p><p>“I was in Jefferson’s Dark Room,” Victoria says.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck.</em>
</p><p>“When?” Chloe has to ask.</p><p>“Same time as Max,” Victoria says, after a long drag on her cigarette. “He drugged me at the party, right before he shot you. He…you know what he did with the girls he took in there, right?”</p><p>“Yeah…” Chloe nods, now fighting the urge to reach out to Victoria physically. She’s never liked the girl, but now she sees her like this, more open and vulnerable than she’s seen almost anyone in her life, there’s something that makes her want to hug the blonde and tell her it’s all okay now.</p><p>“Well, he did all that, and then I guess he got bored of me, or I wasn’t the perfect model he wanted, because when the police stormed the place, they found me drugged, in my underwear, tied up in the trunk of Mark fucking Jefferson’s car, waiting for him to drive off somewhere quiet and dispose of me.”</p><p>She can’t resist any longer, some deep drive compels her to comfort the girl, but when she leans close, Victoria recoils and turns a wounded, tearful look on her.</p><p>“I’ve been visiting Nathan every weekend that I can, ever since it all happened. I try to keep it all separate, like he’s still my friend and he was as much of a victim as the rest of us, but now, hearing him talk about it, about that…that evil <em>fucking </em>man…”</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Chloe begins, but gets cut off with a warning gesture.</p><p>“Don’t even fucking start,” Victoria snaps. “You didn’t make anyone do anything. I drove you out here as a favour, and because I agreed that you were owed that much, at least, after everything you went through. That’s it. I <em>chose </em>to do this, and maybe it’s about time I took off the rose-tinted glasses anyway.”</p><p>“That’s, um…” Chloe falters, searching for the right word, “…that’s very mature of you, Victoria.”</p><p>“I can be, when it suits me,” says Victoria Chase, almost threatening to smile. “We’ll head back soon. Just let me smoke and cool off a little. You good?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Chloe admits.</p><p>“But you got what you wanted, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think I did,” she sighs and flicks about an inch of ash from the end of her cigarette out of the window. “You know, you’re alright, Chase.”</p><p>“I have my moments,” Victoria says, and this time, she really does smile; not the self-satisfied, mocking smirk Chloe’s accustomed to seeing, a real, honest-to-goodness smile that’s shy and pretty enough to light up her face, even with her eyes bloodshot from crying.</p><p> Not until they’re back on the road to Arcadia Bay does Victoria speak again, and when she does, her tone is casual but cautious.</p><p>“So, you’re still trying to find Rachel Amber, huh?” she says, as lightly as if she was enquiring as to Chloe’s weekend plans.</p><p>“I’m almost there,” Chloe says. There’s no sense in trying to hide it, not after all that business at the hospital and the moment of openness in the parking lot. “I thought I was gonna see her sooner, but I guess not, and I couldn’t wait on her forever. I needed to find out.”</p><p>“Well, now you know how she did it, at least,” says Victoria.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chloe’s still struggling to process everything she’s learned. It’s not that she thinks Nathan was lying to her – much as she’d love to believe it, she just <em>knows </em>he was telling the truth, or as close to it as he could get – but reconciling her memories of Rachel with all that is going to take some doing. “What do you make of it, anyway? Did you know?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Victoria says. “Our visits were always pretty casual. And in the interest of keeping this friendly, I think it’s best if we don’t get into what I make of Rachel Amber.”</p><p>“Friendly?” Chloe almost laughs.</p><p>“I’m not saying we’re BFFs now or anything, but I know you liked Rachel, and I doubt you’ll stay so civil if you hear what I’ve got to say about her.”</p><p>“You never liked her, huh?” Chloe knows she shouldn’t press, but a part of her is halfway enjoying talking to someone other than Max or Joyce. Since waking up, her life’s gotten a shitload lonelier.</p><p>“She was a total bitch to me,” Victoria says stiffly.</p><p>“And you were, I’m sorry, but you’ve gotta admit it, kind of a raging cunt to everyone.”</p><p>Victoria scoffs and looks as though she’s struggling not to smirk as she prepares her retort, only to be interrupted by Chloe’s phone ringing. She pulls it out of the pocket of her jeans, frowns at the caller ID on screen.</p><p><em>Kate Marsh. </em>Since they started hanging out semi-regularly, or rather, when Chloe started to be around during Max and Kate’s little tea dates in her room, Chloe swapped numbers with the girl, but she’s never called before, and only texted once, to wish Chloe a happy Christmas, which really just seemed like a nice thing to do. She wonders what possible reason Kate might have for needing to contact her, urgently enough that she couldn’t just send a text. Still frowning, she taps the little green button and holds the phone to her ear.</p><p>“What’s up, Kate?” she says.</p><p>“Why is Kate calling you?” Victoria says, taking her eyes off the road for a second to narrow them suspiciously at Chloe, who holds up a hand to silence her.</p><p>
  <em>“Chloe, you need to get to the hospital. It’s Max.”</em>
</p><p>Something cold and dreadful fills Chloe’s heart, pumping through her veins.</p><p>“What happened?” she asks, though a part of her already knows.</p><p><em>“I don’t know,” </em>Kate replies, sounding close to tears. <em>“I went to the bathroom and she was there, she was bleeding, h-her nose, it was everywhere, all over her…Chloe, where are you?”</em></p><p>“I’m on the way, okay?” Chloe says, a lot more bravely than she feels. “I’m gonna be there as soon as I can.”</p><p><em>“I’m here right now,” </em>Kate says. <em>“They wouldn’t let me go in with her, but I’m waiting. Please, get here soon, I don’t know if she’s going to be alright.”</em></p><p> “Okay, just stay there, an-and let me know if anything changes. I promise, I’ll be there soon.”</p><p>The call ends. Chloe inhales deeply through her nose, exhales through her mouth, and turns to Victoria.</p><p>“We need to get to the hospital,” she says.</p><p>“Is it Kate?” Victoria’s voice rises by about an octave.</p><p>“Max,” Chloe says, gritting her teeth to stop herself from being sick. Victoria nods.</p><p>“Hold tight and pray we don’t get pulled over,” she says, and slams her foot down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, it's been two months since the last chapter, whole new year (happy 2021, bastards), and I haven't been doing so great, but here I am back at it. This might actually be the longest chapter to date, and is almost definitely the most informative.</p><p>As always, a massive thank you to everyone who's read, kudosed and commented so far (though we did recently go over 69 comments on this work...not nice), I hope you all enjoy, and the next chapter will of course be coming when I write it. Creap out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. And Another</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chloe hates hospitals. Always has, for so long she can’t even really remember why anymore. Must have been some bad experience when she was a little kid, she guesses, but even being close to a hospital is enough to set off cold sweats, shakes and a sick, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Knowing Max is in there, probably as bad from her nosebleeds as she’s ever been, only makes it worse. Before they got here, all she could think about was running through the doors and demanding to see her girlfriend at once, not leaving her side until she was well enough to go home. Now, as Victoria tears into the lot and does a less-than-awesome parking job right next to the building, she’s struggling to leave the car, almost frozen in her seat.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Victoria urges.</p>
<p>Why Victoria suddenly cares so much, Chloe doesn’t know, but the mild shock she feels is enough to get her moving. By the time she’s out of the car, Victoria’s halfway to the automatic doors already, and with her long legs and quick steps, catching up to her requires Chloe to break into an awkward jog as they enter their second hospital of the day.</p>
<p>A wave of anxiety and nausea sweeps over her the moment she steps into the sterile white halls of Arcadia Bay Hospital. She clenches her fists and forces herself to block it out. There’ll be time to freak out later, once she’s sure Max isn’t dying.</p>
<p><em>She’s not dying, </em>she repeats furiously to herself. <em>She was fine before, she’ll be fine now, she’s just sick, she’s not dying.</em></p>
<p>She grabs a passing nurse to ask where to go and finds Max’s room on the first floor, just off a musty old waiting room, fully equipped with magazines six months out of date, a corner full of broken kids’ toys and an equally broken vending machine stocked with sad-looking candy bars just out of reach. Kate Marsh is sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs along the wall, face pale, one foot tapping out a fast, steady rhythm on the musty green carpet.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Chloe sits down next to Kate and immediately gets wrapped up in a hug that’s equal parts warm and bone-crushing. Her strength is surprising for such a small girl.</p>
<p>“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she says into Chloe’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“How is she?” Chloe asks, dreading the answer while simultaneously unable to go another second without knowing something, anything.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Kate admits. “The doctors left, so I guess she’s not bleeding anymore, but I h-haven’t gone in to see her yet. I was waiting for you.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Chloe tries to sound reassured. “I’ll go see her. Can I trust you two to play nice while I’m in there?”</p>
<p>She glances between Victoria, still standing awkwardly over the two of them, and Kate in her chair. When neither girl bothers to dignify Chloe’s weak attempt at humour with a response, she gets up and leaves them in the waiting room as she makes her way to Max’s room, wishing her legs were a little steadier.</p>
<p>The door handle rattles the second her trembling hand touches it. Max is behind that door, in some unknown state of health. Will she be able to talk when Chloe sits next to her? Will she be conscious, even? She thinks unpleasantly of the visits Max made to her, what feels like a lifetime ago, in this same building. Max sat by Chloe’s side for hours, listening to her breathe, not knowing if she’d ever wake up. Chloe can’t imagine how that must have felt. Her legs almost give out on the spot at the thought of their roles being reversed, but somehow, she manages to take the last step into the room to come face to face with whatever’s waiting for her.</p>
<p>“Hey,” says a tired voice from the corner of the room.</p>
<p>A noise of pure, unfiltered joy and relief, somewhere between a sigh and a burst of nervous laughter, escapes through Chloe’s open mouth as tears sting her eyes. Max is half-sitting in the bed, propped up on pillows, eyes open and alert. She looks terrible, a ghost in a bloodstained white t-shirt, but at this moment, Chloe couldn’t care less. She’s up, talking and smiling despite what she’s been through, and it’s all Chloe can do to keep her legs under her as she crosses the room and wraps her girlfriend in a tight hug.</p>
<p>“Too tight…” Max groans.</p>
<p>“Shit, sorry!” Chloe hastily loosens her grip a little, no longer squeezing Max’s body quite so hard. When she presses a kiss to her lips, she can’t help but notice how cold Max’s skin feels against her own. She has to remind herself that just because Max is talking, doesn’t mean she’s actually okay.</p>
<p>“Chloe,” Max says, her voice shaky, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be,” Chloe whispers as she buries her face in Max’s hair.</p>
<p>“Your shirt…”</p>
<p>She gestures to her chest, where the top she has on is covered with bloodstains. Pulling away, Chloe notices that the shirt is not actually Max’s but is indeed one of hers, probably left behind on one of the nights she spent in Max’s dorm room. That Max kept it back and wore it as her own strikes her as affectionate and impressively ballsy, relatively speaking.</p>
<p>“I don’t even care,” Chloe lies. She <em>really </em>liked that top. “I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”</p>
<p>That’s about the worst thing she could say right now. She knows it from the moment her lips start moving, but like an idiot she keeps going until it’s out. Silence falls hard, and though they’re still wrapped up together in a loose embrace, she swears she can feel Max mentally retreating, inching away from the moment and into some silent, anxious corner of her mind where she can shut down and not have to talk about anything.</p>
<p>The door squeaks open. Kate’s pale blonde head pokes through a gap of about a foot. Chloe could just about kiss her for saving her ass right now as she makes her way in and practically muscles Chloe out of the way to hug Max. A brief, prickly feeling of jealousy stirs at the way Max and Kate sink so readily into each other’s arms. Chloe silences it; there’s no way anything could be going on there, right?</p>
<p>
  <em>You don’t know that.</em>
</p>
<p>She remembers what she heard just before Christmas. Kate in her room with what definitely sounded like another girl, very much enjoying herself.</p>
<p><em>Max and Kate, </em>whispers that vicious little internal voice.</p>
<p>
  <em>So what? Kate’s into girls. Doesn’t mean anything.</em>
</p>
<p><em>They have their little tea dates, </em>that voice hisses.</p>
<p><em>Is this really the fucking time? </em>Chloe’s mind snaps back.</p>
<p>She shakes her head hard as if that might dislodge those nasty suspicions. Max isn’t cheating on her, least of all with Kate Marsh – though Chloe will admit, the girl <em>is </em>cute enough – and even if she is, which she definitely isn’t, there are more important matters to deal with. If she breaks down her negative thoughts the way her third counsellor taught her, she might even say it’s some inner retribution for Chloe’s own stupid momentary thought of kissing Kate in gratitude for walking in just when things between her and Max threatened to get cold.</p>
<p>“Chloe?” Kate looks up from where she’s sat at the foot of Max’s bed. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just kinda spaced out for a second.”</p>
<p>She catches sight of the muted frustration on Max’s face and vows not to space out again as long as she’s here. Kate just nods and offers a warm, understanding smile.</p>
<p>“I hope you don’t mind me coming in. Victoria went to get drinks, and I got lonely waiting on my own.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, Kate,” Max smiles weakly as Kate moves from the bed to the chair next to it, giving Max and Chloe a little more space. Chloe takes Max’s hand and thinks, stomach lurching with guilt, about their argument this morning. If she’d known their day would turn out like this, she definitely would have handled it differently.</p>
<p>They sit in near-silence for a while, Chloe and Max squeezing each other’s hands while Kate sits nearby with her left foot twitching in an anxious rhythm. It’s not exactly awkward – there’s not much to talk about, and Max seems to be feeling some benefit from just having people close – but the atmosphere of the room makes Chloe’s skin prickle. She selfishly wishes Kate or Max would say something, anything. Her throat’s hella dry, too, and her stomach’s growling like hell after skipping breakfast and lunch. The creeping sense of discomfort is getting to her. If the silence doesn’t break soon, she’s going to go crazy, so she swallows hard and tries her best to find a balance between light and serious.</p>
<p>“Do you know if they’re gonna let you go back to your dorm tonight?” she asks Max.</p>
<p>“No,” Max shakes her head and gives Chloe’s hand a particularly long squeeze. “They haven’t talked to me much yet.”</p>
<p>“If you’ve gotta stay here, I’ll stay with you,” Chloe says.</p>
<p>“I don’t think they’ll let you,” Max says mildly.</p>
<p>“I swear, they’re not gonna stop me,” Chloe tries to sound fierce to mask how her nerves start to fray at the thought of spending a night in this building. “You did it for me.”</p>
<p>“She did,” Kate jumps in. “Every night. It was actually really romantic, in a weird way.”</p>
<p>Max closes her eyes and groans, but her lips are curled up in a smile as Chloe leans in to kiss her forehead. When she pulls away, she notices the pink tinge in Max’s freckled cheeks and suddenly experiences a small swelling of hope in her chest at the sight of some colour finally returning to her girlfriend’s ghostly white face. Spurred on by that warm feeling, she shifts her butt to move a little closer and hug her. Over Max’s shoulder, Chloe spies a soft smile on Kate’s face. <em>She’s so freaking sweet, </em>she thinks. Until recently, she’s never really thought of Kate as a real friend – Kate’s Max’s friend, who Chloe sometimes hangs out with through Max – but today’s events have stirred up all kinds of emotions, and she’s now feeling the urge to hug Kate, too. Whoever Kate’s been fooling around with lately better be an angel, or Chloe might have something to say about it.</p>
<p>The door opens again. Chloe and Max don’t let go of each other as Victoria enters the room, carrying three bottles and one white plastic cup. <em>Shit, she really did get drinks. </em>Chloe’s more cynical mind was sure Victoria had just fucked off for a smoke, or maybe back to Blackwell to do whatever she does in her spare time. For some reason, it’s Kate she approaches first, handing her the cup.</p>
<p>“They didn’t have tea, so I got you hot chocolate,” Victoria says, voice soft.</p>
<p>“Is it nice?” Kate looks up from her seated position.</p>
<p>“Not really, but it’s warm,” Victoria half-smiles. Her manicured fingers brush the back of Kate’s pale hand as the smaller girl takes the plastic cup. Something about that cursory touch makes something spark in Chloe’s mind, but before she can think too much about it, Victoria’s half a foot away from her, offering a bottle of water.</p>
<p>“You’re probably hungry, too, but I couldn’t get any snacks. Are all the machines here broken all the time?”</p>
<p>“Pretty much,” Chloe takes the bottle. Their hands don’t touch.</p>
<p>Max gets a water too, and Victoria retreats to a safe distance, standing close to Kate with her hand resting on the back of the chair. The look that takes over Victoria’s delicate features is one that Chloe hasn’t seen before today, the same one she wore back at the other hospital when Nathan started freaking out – concern. Those bright green eyes are watching Max with real, honest <em>concern. </em>That girl’s changed; no-one currently in the room escaped Mark Jefferson quite the same, but maybe Victoria Chase came out of the unpleasantness of last year and the Dark Room itself more different than the girl in the bed, or the two others gathered around her.</p>
<p>While Chloe’s lost in her thoughts, curiously eyeing the way Victoria’s fingers brush against the shoulder of Kate’s sweater, the three Blackwell students start to chat about something to do with school. In other circumstances, that might be a painful reminder of just how little Chloe’s got going on in her life, but her mind is otherwise occupied. Victoria offers to help Max out with some photography project she’s worried about missing a deadline on, and when she does, Kate looks up at her with a soft smile and actually takes her hand. Then Chloe realises.</p>
<p>
  <em>Holy shit, Kate and Victoria?</em>
</p>
<p>Before she can blurt out something completely inappropriate to the situation, or get into how Max clearly knew about this and didn’t tell her – she doesn’t even react to the sight of the two girls holding hands, Victoria’s cheeks colouring at Kate’s loving gaze – the door opens yet again. This time it’s a doctor, an older man with grey hair and that practiced look of professional sympathy they all have.</p>
<p>“Miss Caulfield?” he says. “Maxine?”</p>
<p>“Max, please,” Max releases her hold on Chloe and turns to face the doctor, who nods.</p>
<p>“Just a couple things I need to discuss with you. Would you mind asking these ladies to leave, please?”</p>
<p>Victoria and Kate immediately get moving – Kate giving Max a quick hug before heading for the door – but Chloe stays where she is.</p>
<p>“Can I stay?” she asks the doctor, who looks at Max, who nods and finds Chloe’s hand again. Chloe feels a rush of warm gratitude and squeezes as hard as she dares, drawing a tired smile from Max.</p>
<p>“Alright then,” the doctor nods and examines the clipboard in his hand. While he does so, Chloe’s eyes wander from Max’s to read the older man’s name tag, worn on a lanyard around his neck. <em>Dr Alan Bowers. </em>She wonders briefly, absurdly if he could be some long-lost relative of Frank, a cousin or uncle or something who got all the luck Frank didn’t and ended up a respectable doctor rather than a shady drug dealer. On balance, probably not, she thinks.</p>
<p>He clears his throat and Chloe snaps to attention, gathering her errant thoughts to listen.</p>
<p>“Well, first of all, we’re going to need to keep you here overnight, just in case your nosebleeds start up again. It’s just for tonight, and I personally don’t think it will happen again tonight, but we need to make sure you can get the help you need, if you need it. Okay?”</p>
<p>Max nods. Her grip on Chloe’s hand tightens for a second.</p>
<p>“Now, you said to the nurse you saw that you’ve had severe nosebleeds like this before,” Dr Bowers continues. “That correct?”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Max nods again. “I-it’s only been that bad a couple times, but, y-yes, it has happened b-before.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Dr Bowers consults his clipboard. “Before you go, we’re going to give you some medication that should hopefully stop you bleeding quite as much. I’ll come by and talk you through it a little more tomorrow. But, since we can’t find a reason for the nosebleeds just yet, we also want to do a scan a little later on.”</p>
<p>“What kind of scan?” Chloe speaks before she can stop herself. Cold blood seems to rush to her head; the ominous possibilities presented by <em>a scan </em>are far worse that her usual hospital-related anxiety. Dr Bowers stares at her for a long second. Her face feels uncomfortably warm, in spite of the ice beneath her skin.</p>
<p>“A brain scan,” the doctor says, to Max, not Chloe. “I assure you, both of you, it’s nothing to worry about. We just need to rule out any kind of deeper issue that might be causing your symptoms.”</p>
<p>“Christ,” Chloe mutters and drops her gaze to the floor as her eyes start stinging.</p>
<p>
  <em>Any kind of deeper issue.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Max has a brain tumour. Max had a stroke; Max fucked with time and space in ways neither of you could understand to save you, and now she’s probably dying.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Because of you.</em>
</p>
<p>“Okay,” Max says, almost a whisper as her head drops back against the pillows. “Th-thank you.”</p>
<p>“I’ll leave you to it for now,” says Dr Bowers. “Someone’ll come check in later, and there’s an alert button by the bed if you need help right away. Take it easy, drink plenty and rest up.”</p>
<p>He leaves them alone, Max resting on the bed staring at the ceiling while Chloe fights back fear and guilt and tears. Only when she feels a hard squeeze on her hand does she summon the courage to meet Max’s eyes. Max doesn’t look like she’s about to cry. She’s actually smiling; thin and tired, but unmistakeably real.</p>
<p>“Hey,” she whispers. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Chloe shuffles closer until her cheek is pressed against Max’s forehead. One rebellious tear rolls down from the corner of her eye to soak into Max’s rumpled hair.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Max repeats, snuggling up against Chloe’s chest.</p>
<p>Chloe mumbles something non-verbal in response, not yet trusting herself to say anything. They stay close for a long while, each trying to comfort the other, and maybe it works, because after several minutes of silent cuddling and mutual gentle back rubs, Chloe finds it in herself to speak.</p>
<p>“Y-you want me to bring you some pyjamas for tonight, if they’re not gonna let you out?” she says, even managing something like a smile, though admittedly she has to force it.</p>
<p>“That would be nice,” Max kisses her cheek. “My room key’s in my pocket.”</p>
<p>She awkwardly wriggles her arm in between their bodies to fish out the key. Chloe takes it, and Max kisses her again. With some reluctance, and after another solid minute in each other’s arms, Chloe finally breaks away and offers another forced smile.</p>
<p>“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she says, keeping that awful, ugly grin on her face way longer than she needs to, right to the door even after Max’s eyes have left her.</p>
<p>She makes her way to the doors as fast as possible, not wanting to linger in the hospital any more than she has to. With so much shit already racing through her mind, she doesn’t need the added anxiety that comes with being in this nasty old building, the air oddly sterile and unpleasantly musty all at once, carrying too many bad thoughts and memories to ever let her feel at ease within these walls.</p>
<p>The sun’s just starting to set over the parking lot and the air is turning cold as dusk comes in. Chloe wishes she’d worn an extra layer; the chill isn’t getting to her just yet, but it’s a few miles at least back to Blackwell, and it’s only going to get colder in her t-shirt, old leather jacket and thin jeans.</p>
<p>“Price,” calls a voice from across the lot.</p>
<p>She follows her ears to find Victoria leaning on the hood of her car, hands cupped around the end of the cigarette she’s struggling to light. <em>She waited</em>, Chloe thinks, wondering if she senses a bit of Kate’s influence in that decision. Maybe she can catch a lift back to campus.</p>
<p>Victoria finally gets her cigarette lit as Chloe catches up with her, and thrusts the pack and lighter at Chloe, who takes them gratefully.</p>
<p>“You and Kate, huh?” says Chloe, taking a brave stab at levity.</p>
<p>“That’s really the thing you want to focus on right now?” Victoria raises an eyebrow and flicks some ash from the end of her cigarette.</p>
<p>“It’s about the only thing that makes any fucking sense,” Chloe shrugs. “Actually, it doesn’t. How the fuck did that happen?”</p>
<p>“Don’t push it, Price,” says Victoria.</p>
<p>“So you’re not gonna tell me?” Chloe’s enjoying teasing Victoria, in spite of everything. Just seeing the flicker of mild discomfort that crosses her face is enough to bring a little light to Chloe’s unpleasantly dark thoughts.</p>
<p>“I am not.”</p>
<p>Chloe smirks and sticks her cigarette between her lips. She makes a mental note to talk to Kate alone as soon as she can; Victoria might not be talking, but something tells her Kate might be more open to talking about how the hell they got together. Of all the hella weird shit currently going on in and around her life, this is one thing that Chloe’s not about to accept and leave it without an explanation.</p>
<p>“Need a lift?” Victoria tosses her cigarette, which makes it a good seven or eight feet before hitting the ground.</p>
<p>“That’d be nice,” Chloe attempts to out-throw Victoria with the butt of her own smoke, and fails. “I’ve gotta pick up some clothes for Max.”</p>
<p>Victoria just nods and motions Chloe to get in the car. The front seat is already occupied by Kate, whose nose wrinkles when her girlfriend – that’s a freaking weird thought – gets in smelling of cigarette smoke, so Chloe takes the back seat and, in her continuing quest to think about anything but what’s going on with Max right now, she starts wondering if the girls in front of her have ever gotten weird in the spot she’s sitting in.</p>
<p>Her mind continues to wander as they drive back to Blackwell. Kate and Victoria’s hands occasionally touch when the car stops at red lights, something which Chloe doesn’t miss. It gives her a strange feeling; longing for those kinds of small, tender moments with Max while at the same time, warming up to Victoria all the more. They might never be the best of friends, exactly, but it’s another reminder that her driver isn’t the same stuck-up rich bitch she remembers from her own school days.</p>
<p>Back at the Prescott dorm, Chloe follows Kate and Victoria up the stairs to their floor. Outside Kate’s room, the smaller girl pauses and catches Chloe’s arm while Victoria disappears into the sanctuary of her own room.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling, Chloe?” Kate says, voice soft, eyes wide and fixed right on Chloe’s.</p>
<p>How <em>is </em>she feeling, exactly? <em>Scared </em>might sum it up nicely. <em>Terrible </em>also fits, as does <em>awful, guilty </em>– for reasons she couldn’t even begin to get into without sounding completely crazy – and not forgetting <em>confused.</em></p>
<p>“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she sighs, trying not to sound too much like she’s brushing Kate off.</p>
<p>“I get it,” Kate nods sympathetically. “Well, um…after you’re done seeing Max, you can come back and stay with me tonight, if you want. I don’t totally understand how you’re feeling, but I wouldn’t want you to be alone if you don’t want to be.”</p>
<p>“Um…thanks, Kate,” Chloe bites her lower lip, touched at Kate’s display of kindness in the face of Chloe’s obvious shitty mood.</p>
<p>“Just send me a text, or something,” says Kate, smiling. “I promise, it’s no problem. I’ll make some tea, and you can just sit and play with Alice and go to sleep whenever you feel like it.”</p>
<p>“Sure Victoria won’t mind?” Chloe teases, masking her true feeling with a joke again and regretting it when she catches sight of the vivid, furious blush in Kate’s cheeks – not just a light pink tinge like she saw when she was needling Victoria, but a full-on, crimson flush that makes Kate look like she might catch on fire at any moment.</p>
<p>“She won’t,” Kate mumbles and retreats behind her door.</p>
<p>The dorm’s heating is on, but Max’s room feels about ten degrees colder than the hall. The bed is made, and the state of the desk tells Chloe her girlfriend was getting seriously into some homework when her nosebleed started. There’s even – her stomach turns – a few spots of dried blood on one of the pages of Max’s notebook. It must have started right here, then Max must have gone to the bathroom to try and clean herself up before it worsened.</p>
<p>She tears her eyes off the blood and searches Max’s closet, shoving some sweats, a t-shirt and clean underwear in a rucksack. If she can’t make Max better, or lessen the horrible sense of guilt and dread she feels when she thinks of her in the hospital, at least she can make sure Max doesn’t have to spend the night in bloodstained clothes on top of everything else. Back packed, she plugs in her headphones to drown out the ambient noise of the dorm and leaves the cold, unfriendly, Max-less room for the equally cold evening outside.</p>
<p>Her truck is cold too. The heating barely works, always has done but she shows her old friend some patience, rubbing her hands to warm up while she waits. She takes her time driving back to the hospital, too. In her emotional state, and with the rain starting to pour, she knows she needs to be careful if she wants to get there safely.</p>
<p><em>Max is gonna be fine</em>, she tells herself, not for the first time. It’s become something of a mantra for her. <em>Max is gonna be fine. She’s gonna be fine.</em></p>
<p>When Chloe finally reaches the hospital, forcing down the usual waves of chills, she can hardly think of anything else but Max, and how she’s gonna be fine. Nothing else really matters; she just needs to keep it together and focus on the task at hand.</p>
<p>Max is half-asleep on her bed, looking even more exhausted than she did earlier, if that’s possible. The sight of her tells Chloe she’s not going to be up for much physical contact, and Chloe wonders if she could even handle that emotionally right now, so she keeps it brief, just helping Max into her clean clothes and signing off with a gentle hug and a slow kiss on the lips. It feels so impersonal, but she tries to put some of what she wants to express into that kiss.</p>
<p>“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, promise,” Chloe whispers against her girlfriend’s lips as she lays her back down on the hospital bed.</p>
<p>A tired smile draws itself on Max’s face below her half-closed eyes. Chloe guesses that’s all she’s getting for now. Trying not to sigh, she picks up the empty rucksack and leaves Max to rest and hopefully recover.</p>
<p>A nurse in a light blue uniform sights her as she leaves. Chloe looks the woman over. She’s young, probably only a few years older than Chloe herself, with lots of dark curly hair and thick glasses with black frames.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” the nurse says, catching up with quick strides against Chloe’s listless depressive gait.</p>
<p>“I was just bringing some stuff for my friend,” says Chloe. She can’t even muster the strength to get defensive. “I’m going.”</p>
<p>“It’s Chloe, isn’t it?” says the dark-haired nurse.</p>
<p>“Uh…yeah. Do we know each other?”</p>
<p>Chloe starts racking her brains for where she might have ran into this woman before. Did they hook up drunkenly at some party in town? She had some crazy nights in those destructive few months between Rachel leaving and Max turning back up, and more than a few one night stands with various people. The nurse is pretty enough, in a dorky kind of way, pretty much exactly Chloe’s type.</p>
<p>“Oh, not really,” she says. “I used to see you a lot, though. Back when you were in here? I suppose you wouldn’t remember, of course. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I just wanted to say how great it is to see you all better.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>What do you even say to that? Thankfully, Chloe doesn’t have to worry, since the nurse is still talking in an excitable, chatty way not usually seen in hospital staff.</p>
<p>“I mean, talk about luck, right? Coming round right when you did?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean by that?”</p>
<p>Something in her tone snags Chloe’s attention. <em>Right when you did…</em></p>
<p>“Oh, you don’t know?” the dark-haired young woman’s tone changes abruptly.</p>
<p>“Don’t know what?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I should tell you,” she shuffles a couple inches back from Chloe and becomes very interested in her shoes all of a sudden.</p>
<p>“Please,” Chloe moves forward, into her space. “Please- what’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Rebecca…”</p>
<p>“Please, Rebecca, there’s enough shit in my life I don’t know, or can’t explain, or whatever. I don’t need any more. Please, just tell me what you mean.”</p>
<p>It takes some time for Rebecca to wrestle with whatever she’s hiding. Chloe’s nerves creep back in quickly, overriding hunger, exhaustion and her worries about Max. A part of her knows, instinctively, she doesn’t want to hear this, but she <em>needs </em>to. She can’t deal with another mystery, not right now.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m only telling you this because, you’re right, you don’t need more stress, and you have a right to know. However it makes you feel, you’ve gotta remember, you’re safe now, you’re all better, and please, don’t get mad at me. Okay?”</p>
<p>“I get it, I get it,” Chloe tries to hurry the woman along. “Just tell me.”</p>
<p>Rebecca takes a deep breath.</p>
<p><em>This is gonna hurt, </em>the voice in her head whispers.</p>
<p>“You were out for a long time, Chloe. Most people don’t wake up after a coma even half as long as you, but your mom and stepdad were so sure you were going to get better, at first. Then…” she takes a deep breath, “well, you weren’t. So, a couple of days before you woke up, the doctors talked to them about…well…”</p>
<p>“Pulling the plug,” Chloe finishes.</p>
<p>“Withdrawing life support,” the nurse corrects.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Chloe shoulders her bag, turns and leaves Rebecca right where she found her.</p>
<p>She wants to hate everything she sees, but she can’t. She’s numb. One day, she knows, she’s going to have to break down and process this shit properly, but for now it can just sit on top of the mountain of shit the universe has already seen fit to drop on her. Feeling nothing is easier. Safer. Best that she saves her mental breakdown, ugly-crying, smashing shit up, whatever, for a better time. Preferably when Max is well enough to hold her through it, like she did on Chloe’s first evening back in the land of the living.</p>
<p><em>Max must have known too, </em>the voice cuts across her thoughts. <em>That your mom and David were gonna let you die. She knew too.</em></p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Chloe snaps under her breath.</p>
<p>She can’t go home. No way can she face Joyce now. She drives her truck out of the parking lot and into town, where she parks up outside the diner and lets the glare of the lights sting her eyes through the rain-slicked windshield. Joyce isn’t working this evening; no danger of being seen while she’s in this state. She smokes three or four cigarettes, one after the other, tossing the butts out of the window when she’s done. Hunger’s getting to her, so she peels herself off the seat and makes her way inside to grab a burger and feel warm for five minutes. Half of it is deposited in a trash can on the way back to the car. Wiping grease from her fingers on her jeans, she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts to tap out a message.</p>
<p>
  <em>So is it still cool if i crash with you tonite? dont rly wanna b alone</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sent to: Kate Marsh.</em>
</p>
<p>Twenty minutes go by with no reply. Chloe kills time by just driving around Arcadia Bay, not planning on going anywhere in particular. Anything but home or the hospital will do fine. An hour passes, then two hours, until it’s well into late evening, getting towards night and still no word from Kate. There’s only so long Chloe can drive and smoke and feel like shit without getting restless.</p>
<p><em>Fuck it, </em>she’s heading to Blackwell. Kate won’t turn her away, she’s so sweet and she was the one who offered Chloe a place to sleep if she felt the need.</p>
<p>Back at the dorms, the lights are still on in Kate’s room, a thin strip of yellow under the door in the dark hallway. Clearly she’s not getting an early night. Chloe knocks, gently as she can, and waits to be greeted by a flustered-looking Kate, dressed in grey plaid pyjama pants and an outsize t-shirt, hair down and flowing over her shoulders to her lower back.</p>
<p>“Chloe,” Kate says, sounding unusually surprised.</p>
<p>“Kate, I’m sorry…” Chloe begins.</p>
<p>“No, no, I’m sorry. I was drawing, and I put my phone on silent…did you want to stay the night?”</p>
<p>“If that’s still cool.”</p>
<p>“Um…” Kate glances over her shoulder into the room. “Of course, just let me tidy up a little. I won’t be a minute.”</p>
<p>The door closes, opening again a moment later. Chloe’s ushered into a more or less spotless dorm room that’s clearly already been tidied well enough to meet anyone’s standards. On Kate’s bed is Victoria, in shorts and a tank top, looking pissed off, though her expression softens a shade when she sees Chloe. The cage on top of the bookshelf, home to Alice when the bunny’s not let out and given the run of the floor, is covered with a blanket.</p>
<p>
  <em>No prizes for guessing what was going down here.</em>
</p>
<p>“Actually, you know what?” Chloe stops just over the threshold. “I don’t need to stay. I mean, I should probably get home. My mom’s gonna get worried if I’m out of the house two nights in a row.”</p>
<p>Joyce probably won’t, now she’s started trusting Chloe not to get wasted every night, and Chloe of course has no intention of going home, but Kate and Victoria don’t need to know that.</p>
<p>“Chloe, I said you could stay here tonight,” Kate says, softly but firmly. “You can stay.”</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna interrupt anything…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Careful now. Don’t embarrass Katie, or piss Vic off even more, or do anything else stupid.</em>
</p>
<p>“You’re not,” Kate’s a terrible liar, and the evidence is plain to see.</p>
<p>“It’s fine, Chloe,” Victoria pipes up, sitting up on the bed. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. Believe me, I know. We both do.”</p>
<p>Kate glances over at her girlfriend with a look of the purest gratitude, then returns her eyes to Chloe.</p>
<p>“Come on in,” she says. “I’ll make you up a bed on the couch. It’ll be okay, I promise.”</p>
<p> A hug is offered, and gratefully received. Before Chloe knows it, feelings she thought she’d packed away hours ago start swimming to the surface. A single tear sneaks out. There are more where it came from. Plenty fucking more, as it happens; the perfect end to the perfect day, crying in the arms of a girl she just totally cockblocked. Somewhere along the line, she realises that Victoria’s actually gotten up to join the hug, and that’s where it all gets too weird for her. Sobs turn into laughs. Kate’s sympathetic eyes now brim with confusion and concern while Victoria takes a step back, unpleasantly reminded of their visit to Nathan. <em>Shit, that was just this morning.</em></p>
<p>“Chloe, are you okay?” Kate whispers.</p>
<p>“Not really,” Chloe admits, snapping out of her hysterical trance. “But, um…thank you. Both of you. It’s…it’s nice of you to try and help.”</p>
<p>“She’s an angel,” Victoria says with a smile.</p>
<p>“So, who’s up for a movie?” Kate hastily changes the subject, blushing fiercely under Victoria’s praise. Chloe shrugs.</p>
<p>“Sure. Let’s see what you got.”</p>
<p>Kate’s DVD collection is far larger than Chloe anticipated. As a general rule, she wouldn’t expect a devout, churchgoing Christian to be such a movie buff, let alone possess half the titles Kate keeps on her shelves. After picking up a particularly strange inclusion – <em>Friday the </em>fucking <em>13<sup>th</sup>, </em>of all things – Kate feels compelled to explain.</p>
<p>“Some of these are Victoria’s influence. Some are just because, I suppose, I wanted to be a little less sheltered now I’m not living with my family.”</p>
<p>They settle on some obscure French horror flick Kate picked up pre-owned for the princely sum of a dollar fifty. After fixing the subtitles – Victoria points out, with only a hint of smugness, that <em>she </em>can actually understand French perfectly well, thank you – Chloe takes her seat on the couch and allows her mind to drift, avoiding the bad places and getting stuck into the movie, which is actually solid, so long as you don’t mind reading while watching.</p>
<p><em>Max is gonna be fine, </em>she tells herself during the lulls in the action. <em>It’s all gonna be fine.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe we can double-date with Kate and Victoria. They’re actually pretty fun, and they’re cute together.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>This couch is hella comfy…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m tired…</em>
</p>
<p>Almost at the point of sleep, having shed her boots, jacket and jeans, warm and snug under one of Kate’s many spare blankets…</p>
<p>
  <em>Why the fuck hasn’t Rachel called me yet?</em>
</p>
<p>Shit. How’s she supposed to get any sleep now?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We have Chasemarsh.</p>
<p>So, I initially wanted Kate and Victoria to have a much bigger part in the story, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to do that. I hope their inclusion here brings you Chasemarsh fans some joy.</p>
<p>Rachel kind of took a back seat here, huh? I promise, we will get round to her properly, sooner rather than later. I'm not sure how many chapters I'm going for in total here, but I think nine chapters into a story concerning Rachel Amber, some of you might be wondering when the fuck we're actually going to get Rachel Amber. Maybe I'll use that as an excuse to replay BtS. "Research".</p>
<p>And as ever, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, next chapter coming (redacted).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Closure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Max steps through the automatic doors of the hospital at thirteen minutes past eight, according to Chloe’s phone. It’s now six days since her last serious episode, the one that saw her hospitalised overnight. Chloe’s hardly left her side in that time, except during school hours where she can’t really hang around Blackwell. Kate keeps an eye on her during classes. Apparently, she’s been fine. More than fine, really. Great, like a totally different girl. When Chloe’s with her, she sees Max’s strength coming back, maybe even more than before. She remembers sitting on Max’s bed, awkwardly staring at her hands while the other girl furiously insisted down the phone to her mom that she was fine, she <em>definitely </em>didn’t need to come home and miss more school and <em>yes, </em>of course she was doing what the doctors said, she’s not a little kid or a complete moron. In all the time she’s known her, Chloe’s never seen Max get so wound up.</p><p>Right now, though, as Max walks back to the pickup where Chloe’s waiting – her nerves got the better of her when they arrived, leaving her frozen in the driver’s seat and unable to accompany Max into the building – her movements are slow and lethargic. It’s like watching an old lady move in an eighteen-year-old’s body. Her eyes are down, her arms limply hanging by her sides.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Getting your brain scanned isn’t a fun experience at the best of times, or at least that’s what Chloe has to assume. Going through it alone because your girlfriend’s scared shitless of hospitals must only add to the already crappy nature of the procedure. Then, what could make it worse?</p><p>Hearing what you don’t want to hear.</p><p>
  <em>Double shit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Okay, brave face on, Price. Stay cool and be supportive. Gotta at least get the patient back home before you freak out, ’kay?</em>
</p><p>She’s actually been freaking out ever since Max left the car earlier this evening. She bought a new pack of cigarettes this morning. Only four remain. In the two-and-a-bit hours she’s been parked up here alone, she’s gone through seven. That’s around one cigarette every twenty minutes, creating a haze that stung her eyes until she finally relented and opened the door for a while, letting the smoke out and the cold in.</p><p>And now, as she reaches over to open the passenger door for Max, she gets a horrible, sinking feeling that her day is not about to become less stressful. She might actually need a new pack before it’s over.</p><p>“You’ve really gotta stop with the chain smoking, Chloe,” Max says flatly, grimacing at the smell still hanging heavily in the air.</p><p>“I’m nervous,” Chloe says. “Hospitals.”</p><p>
  <em>And the fact that my girlfriend’s brain may well be fatally fucked up.</em>
</p><p>“I know,” Max sighs and settles into her seat.</p><p>“So, are you gonna tell me about it?” Chloe asks, hating the fragile bravado in her voice with every fibre of her being.</p><p>“Sure you want to know?”</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>“Of course I do,” she laces her fingers in between Max’s. “I’m here for you, okay?”</p><p>“Promise?” Max’s voice drops so low that hearing her is a strain, even just a few inches away.</p><p>“Promise.”</p><p>
  <em>Time to be strong.</em>
</p><p>“Well, they fast-tracked the whole thing, because apparently Blackwell’s got some kind of arrangement with the hospital that students get treatment as quick as possible. So, I guess I got lucky there. In and out in one trip.”</p><p>“Mm,” Chloe nods. Max continues.</p><p>“It was…really fucking unpleasant. Lying totally still and getting my head put through this machine. You know how you always start itching when you have to stay still?”</p><p>She’s being casual and conversational, but there’s a brittle edge to her voice. If she had the energy, she’d be rambling at ninety miles an hour, Chloe can tell. Not a good sign.</p><p>“Then they let me get dressed and I just kind of waited until they called me for the results. I must’ve walked around that waiting room about a hundred times. Plus, I couldn’t even get a candy bar because the machine’s been broken for the past ten years, remember?”</p><p>Guilt hits Chloe like a punch in the chest when she pictures Max pacing the waiting room, waiting to be told exactly what was going on with her brain. <em>Why couldn’t you go in with her and keep her company, again? Too scared?</em></p><p>“And then they called me into a little room and showed me these pictures of my brain. That’s a super weird thing to have to look at. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.”</p><p>Actually, Chloe’s always kind of wanted to see her own brain, call it morbid curiosity or whatever you want to call it.</p><p>“And…?” she looks at Max intently, willing herself not to show on her face what’s going on in her head right now. <em>Get to the point, Max, please, just get to the point.</em></p><p>“And…” Max begins, but cuts herself off with a noise like a sob, though her eyes stay dry. “I-I’m sorry, c-can you just hold me for a second?”</p><p><em>Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit; Jesus fucking Christ, here it comes.</em> <em>Deep breaths, brave face.</em></p><p>Chloe dutifully moves as close as she can and wraps her arms tight around Max’s slender body. A wet, warm feeling quickly seeps in around her chest as Max’s tears soak into her shirt. It takes every bit of strength left in Chloe not to start crying herself. There’ll be time for that later; all the shit she’s gone through, everything she’s been forcing down and holding back, there’ll be time to let it all out later. When she’s sure Max is at least comfortable and safe, when everything with Rachel’s done and dusted, she’ll find someone she can trust, Joyce, or maybe Kate – fuck it, when it all comes out she’ll probably even accept David – and run crying to them. If she can just stay strong for a couple more days…</p><p>Max worms her head out of Chloe’s chest where she’s been burying her face for the past few minutes, straightens up to line her face up with Chloe’s, cheek to cheek, her lips right by Chloe’s ear. Once upon a time, Chloe would have found that closeness sexy as hell, but now it just freezes her up as she feels Max’s warm breath on her sensitive skin.</p><p>“All clear,” Max whispers.</p><p>“What?” Chloe manages to say, after a long pause.</p><p>“All clear,” Max repeats, her voice stronger than before. “Chloe, there’s nothing wrong with my brain. If the pills work, no more nosebleeds. I…I think I’m gonna be fine.</p><p><em>Debatable, </em>Chloe thinks. Did Max really plan this whole thing out; shambling to the car like she’d just been told she had two weeks to live, putting off telling Chloe as long as possible, breaking down in her arms, just to tell her that she’s <em>gonna be fine </em>after all?</p><p>Max has pulled away. She’s smiling, <em>smirking, </em>like it’s all in good fun and she’s waiting for Chloe to get a very witty joke.</p><p>
  <em>Motherfucker, she did plan this out.</em>
</p><p>“You little asshole,” Chloe says, before pulling Max into her lap for the most vicious hug she’s ever given, not caring how hard she squeezes, not caring how it must look to anyone walking by seeing the two girls wrapped up in each other’s arms, not caring about <em>anything. </em>Max is <em>fine; </em>her best friend, her girlfriend, is fine. She nuzzles roughly into Max’s shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks, but too relieved to be really upset.</p><p>“Chloe…” Max gasps, trying in vain to wriggle free.</p><p>“You fucking little asshole,” Chloe turns her head and plants a long, wet kiss on the side of Max’s neck. “I swear to God, don’t ever do that to me again.”</p><p>She’s almost laughing through her tears while Max squirms in her lap, awkwardly straddling her with her knees on the seat. Their lips meet, hard enough that their top teeth <em>clack </em>together before both girls sink into a deep kiss, tongues rolling against each other, hands starting to roam – strictly above the waist; they are technically in a public place, after all – until Chloe’s need for oxygen overwhelms the need to be kissing Max.</p><p>“You’ve got a hella dark sense of humour, Maximus,” she says, once she’s regained a little of her composure.</p><p>“Too dark?” Max says, a little bashful.</p><p>“Dude, I thought you were dying. You ever do that to me again…”</p><p>“M-maybe it was funnier in my head,” Max’s eyes flicker downwards with a familiar blush, then her smirk emerges once more as she leans in closer to whisper, “I’m sorry. You can spank me for it later, if you want.”</p><p>Now it’s Chloe’s turn to blush. It’s been more than a week since they last went beyond a kiss. That hasn’t bothered her while they’ve both had much more pressing matters to deal with, but now it’s looking like tonight might hold the promise of a great deal more, and as Max’s words start painting vivid pictures in her head, she realises just how much she’s been missing sex.</p><p>“So, I guess that means I’m sleeping at the dorms again tonight?”</p><p>She doesn’t need to ask. They don’t make love at Chloe’s place, as a rule. With Joyce across the hall and Trooper sleeping in his dog bed downstairs, it’s kind of hard to really get into it without waking the whole house up. In Max’s room, they feel a bit more free with the knowledge that they’re definitely not the only couple fucking in the dorms. Chloe tries to block out the noise when she has to leave Max’s room, but she’s overheard a few; Kate and Victoria, Dana and Trevor, and that dark-haired girl whose name she doesn’t know who’s been hooking up with Justin for the past month. None of them seem to care too much about keeping it quiet, so why should Max and Chloe?</p><p>After a quick stop at a gas station for Chloe’s cigarettes and snacks – chocolate pretzels, chips and soda – they arrive back at campus a little after nine and head straight for the dormitories hand in hand, keeping an eye out for David as they go. Chloe’s bumped into him when she’s spent the night at Blackwell before. She can’t blame him for wanting to talk a bit and maybe break the monotony of a lonely night shift for a little while, but right now, the last thing she wants is a conversation with Captain Mustache cutting into precious time she could be spending in bed with Max.</p><p><em>Or with bed, in Max, </em>she thinks, and chuckles at her own stupid joke even though it doesn’t make any sense.</p><p>They don’t even get the door fully closed behind them before they’re in each other’s arms again, kissing like it’s the end of the world. Max breaks off for a second to lock the door and then they’re straight back into it, lips locked, tongues wrestling, hips bumping together as two pairs of hands fumble with buckles and zippers. Chloe curses herself for putting on an extra layer as Max’s fingers go to work on the buttons of her old flannel shirt, but then she finds the clasp of Max’s bra, and then nothing seems to matter very much anymore.</p><p>She doesn’t get long to take in the glorious sight of Max’s bare freckled torso, her jeans unzipped and sitting low around her hips showing off most of her underwear, before she’s spun around and tripped onto the bed. <em>Fuck, she’s stronger than she looks. </em>It’s awesome to see Max with so much energy, and even more awesome when she jumps on top of Chloe and starts ridding her of her clothes with small, quick hands. This is <em>it, </em>this is just what they’ve both needed; for Max, it’s about showing some gratitude to Chloe for sticking by her through everything, as well as to the universe now it’s confirmed there’s nothing seriously wrong with her. For Chloe, it’s the best way to clear her head, shove all the bad thoughts and worries aside for a bit and just lose herself in sensation for as long as she can manage.</p><p>The spanking Max mentioned earlier never quite materialises. Not that it really matters. By the time both girls have reached their moment for maybe the second or third time – it takes a bit of communication and timing to get there together, but that’s part of the fun – Chloe’s a flushed, sweaty mess; chest heaving, legs cramping and so totally wiped out that in the brief couple of minutes between flopping on her back and settling in for that beautiful moment of post-coital bliss, she wonders if her eyes will ever fully unroll from the back of her head or if she’s gonna be stuck with permanent orgasm face for the rest of her life.</p><p>“That was…” Max rolls to her side, throwing one arm over Chloe’s chest.</p><p> “Fucking awesome,” Chloe finishes with a satisfied smile.</p><p>“The best,” Max nods lazily in agreement.</p><p>“Mm-hm,” Chloe turns to press her body closer against Max’s, chest-to-chest instead of the weird kind of side-on position she previously found herself in. “Love you, asshole.”</p><p>“I love you too, asshole.”</p><p>This is nice. No need to think or talk too much, just time to enjoy the warmth of Max’s body and the replay a few pleasant new memories. For the first time in a long time, Chloe’s head feels clear. She’s temporarily at peace. This must be how normal people with normal lives not full of insane bullshit feel all the time. She could get used to it. Max seems to sense her newfound serenity and says nothing, closing her eyes and nuzzling into the space between Chloe’s neck and shoulder.</p><p>Then she moves, leaving Chloe feeling cold and somehow even more naked, and the spell is broken.</p><p>“What’s up?” Chloe covers herself with Max’s blanket as Max gets up off the bed and makes for the closet.</p><p>“Bathroom,” Max pulls a loose t-shirt over her head. “You know you’re supposed to go to the bathroom after sex, right?”</p><p>“Sure,” Chloe remembers reading that somewhere. She’ll get up in a few minutes, once the ache in her legs subsides a little more. “You’re coming back, though, right?”</p><p><em>Stupid. </em>Of course she’s coming back; this is her bed, you know, that place where she sleeps with Chloe most nights? Chloe’s stupid fucking anxiety gets the better of her again and the dumbest question she’s ever asked hangs in the hot, heavy air of the room for a few seconds of excruciating silence.</p><p>“That’s the idea,” Max smiles, trying to play it off for Chloe’s sake as she pulls some shorts up her slender, freckled legs. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”</p><p>She leaves Chloe alone, just for a few minutes, like it’s no big deal. It isn’t, or shouldn’t be, but now Chloe’s mind isn’t preoccupied with pleasure or the warm loved-up feeling that follows it, her nerves are waking up again. For something to do, she gets up, still holding the blanket around her body with one hand, and grabs her phone from the pocket of her jeans, which lie in a heap on the floor with the rest of their clothes.</p><p>She knows she shouldn’t. No good can come of staring at the same thing for the thousandth time, but it’s in her hand now, and she’s bringing up her last messages as she sits back on the bed, scrolling through until she finds the one she’s looking for.</p><p>
  <em>Arcadia Hills motel. Saturday. Come around 2pm. I’ll see you then xx</em>
</p><p>It’s a good message, as it goes. Simple, straightforward, informative. At a glance, Chloe knows exactly where to go and when to get there. That’s all. After everything, wish granted, just like that. Closure, at last. The end of the pain, the craziness, the unrelenting shittiness that’s been the past three years of her life, is in sight. All that remains, now Max isn’t dying and the world isn’t about to end, is just to get through tomorrow without causing too much damage.</p><p>Something tells her it’s not going to be quite that simple.</p><p>A sudden noise makes Chloe look up in surprise. It’s a camera shutter, loud in the quiet room. On the other side of the camera is a grinning Max. Once again, it looks like Chloe’s retreated into her thoughts so far as to not notice what’s going on around her.</p><p>“Hey!” she sets her phone down and gets to her feet, dropping the blanket, ready to snatch the photo from Max’s hand. Max intercepts her with a one-armed hug and a playful laugh while holding the polaroid at arm’s length. Chloe’s arms are longer, though, and with the photo held out like that, it’s easier to take than if Max had tried to keep it against her chest.</p><p>“It was a cool shot,” says Max defensively. “I’m not gonna show it in class or anything. Give it back.”</p><p>Chloe examines the photograph. It <em>is </em>pretty good, she guesses, especially for a totally unplanned, candid shot. Unfortunately, it’s also pretty clear she’s naked in the photo, even with the blanket covering her up.</p><p>“Show no-one,” she says in a mock warning tone as she passes the picture back to Max.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Max takes it and places it carefully in a drawer in her desk, where Chloe knows she keeps a few pictures she just likes, away from her school stuff or anything she might be thinking of showing people.</p><p>They resume their position on the bed quickly after, Max in her pyjamas and Chloe wrapped in her blanket. When Chloe rolls over to face away, Max spoons up against her and throws a leg over her waist.</p><p>“You’re nervous,” Max says. Not a question.</p><p>“Aren’t you?” Chloe says, lips tight.</p><p>“Not really,” Max’s breath is warm against Chloe’s bare shoulder. “Chloe, you’re gonna be fine.”</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“Sure I do,” Max plants a quick kiss on Chloe’s ear.</p><p>“That so?”</p><p>Chloe turns her head to lock eyes with her girlfriend. Even here and now, her first instinct is to challenge. An amused smile lights up Max’s face.</p><p>“Yes, it is,” she says. “Chloe, sweetie, look at everything you’ve been through. Everything you’ve survived. Everything we’ve gotten through together…fuck, just this week, even just tonight. If we can survive all that, I <em>know </em>you’re strong enough to see her again, and I know you need it.”</p><p>This new, confident Max is a breath of fresh air. Then again, most people would probably feel pretty good about themselves after learning they don’t, in fact, have anything fatally wrong with their brain. Chloe could do with a bit of that herself.</p><p>“Trust me. You can do this, Chloe. You believe me?”</p><p>“I guess so…” Chloe mumbles.</p><p>“So, how about you look me in the eye and tell me?”</p><p>A nervous laugh escapes, like the whole situation’s a joke. Max doesn’t laugh. She’s serious. <em>What the hell happened to my girlfriend? </em>It’s not like Chloe isn’t totally in love with confident Max, but it’s as if all her shyness and painful self-awareness have just evaporated. Right now, Chloe could be lying naked in bed with her clone, a clone of the original, pre-coma Chloe Price.</p><p>
  <em>Wouldn’t be the first time someone told me to go fuck myself.</em>
</p><p>“Come on,” Max says. She’s smiling, but her voice is firm. “Look me in the eye and tell me you can do this.”</p><p>“I can do this,” says Chloe uncertainly.</p><p>“That wasn’t very convincing,” Max teases.</p><p>“I can do this,” Chloe says, making her voice a little stronger.</p><p>“Again,” Max practically orders.</p><p>Chloe doesn’t bother repeating herself. Instead, she spins in Max’s arms and smashes their lips together, kissing her furiously while driving her onto her back, getting on top of her and staying there. The new Max is pushing <em>all </em>her buttons just right, and while she might be all screwed out for the night, she can still summon up to French the absolute <em>shit </em>out of her. Max’s hands come up to cradle the back of Chloe’s head, lazily playing with the stray curls of hair that fall around where her neck and head meet. Chloe’s blanket has fallen off somewhere along the line, now lying off to the side, forgotten, and she doesn’t care or even notice until she breaks the kiss and opens her eyes, coming face to face with a very pink Max.</p><p>“I can do this,” she says, lips still an inch from Max’s.</p><p>“I believe you,” Max pants.</p><p>It’s getting late. After a moment of silent, intense, loving eye contact, Chloe climbs off the bed and dresses herself in a hoodie and sweatpants from Max’s closet. They’re hers; with all the nights she spends here, especially recently, it just makes sense to keep some comfortable stuff to sleep in on hand. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom before bed, keeping her trip as brief as possible. Being alone with her thoughts for too long is asking for trouble. On returning, she finds Max already half asleep and joins her under the blanket.</p><p>“Goodnight,” Max mumbles sleepily.</p><p>“Mm, night,” Chloe nuzzles up against her cheek and wraps around her girlfriend, grateful for the closeness and the illusion of a normal night.</p><p> </p><p>*  *  *</p><p> </p><p>Saturday morning comes in cold and grey. For the first time since Christmas, Max is up before Chloe, gently nudging her awake so they can shower in peace, before the bathroom gets taken over by the rest of the girls in the dorm. Her touch are soft as she draws Chloe out with teasing kisses and whispered words about how she <em>really </em>doesn’t fancy showering later and giving her dormmates a show of the rather fetching display of love bites – Chloe’s handiwork from last night – shining across her neck and chest. With some reluctance, Chloe leaves the warm bed and follows Max to the showers.</p><p>They share a single cubicle, as usual. There’s something casually intimate about being naked and close without actually getting into anything that appeals to Chloe, and lately she’s also been using it as an opportunity to keep an eye on Max while her health’s been so uncertain. She showers with Max now more than she showers alone. Sometimes they talk a little, if they’re feeling up to it. This morning, when Max suggests finishing up and heading to the Two Whales for a spontaneous breakfast date, Chloe hesitates for a second before she sniffs out Max’s true intentions.</p><p><em>She’s trying to give me a normal morning, </em>she realises. It <em>has </em>been a while since Chloe’s had one of those.</p><p>She wishes she could find the words to express the heady swell of love she experiences in that moment, but she can’t, so instead she drags Max into a slippery, soapy hug and enthusiastically agrees that yes, a breakfast date sounds fucking great right about now.</p><p>The diner’s almost empty when they arrive, populated only by the usual couple of truckers drinking coffee at the counter and an older couple in a corner booth. Joyce is behind the counter, back to the door as she chats quietly about something to the cook. Max and Chloe take the booth by the wall, closest to the silent jukebox, and wait.</p><p>“You’re looking well, honey,” says a voice from above. In the space of just a few minutes, Chloe’s spaced out so bad she didn’t even notice her own mother. She guesses she should just be thankful Joyce isn’t talking to her, but to Max.</p><p>“I am,” Max says with a smile. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Ah, that’s wonderful. I know you weren’t doing so well, but it’s nice to see you smiling. Goodness knows, Chloe’s been worried absolutely sick about you.”</p><p>Chloe feels her cheeks colouring and fakes a cough to hide her face.</p><p>“So, what can I get you girls?” says Joyce, still beaming at Max, giving her daughter a break from her embarrassment by not focusing on her for a second.</p><p>“Can I get the bacon omelette, please? And some coffee?”</p><p>“Of course,” Joyce nods before turning her attention to Chloe. “Same for you?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. I mean, yes please,” Chloe says, tripping over her tongue in her haste to answer and sound normal. “Thanks, mom.”</p><p>“Coming right up.”</p><p>Joyce leaves them, and Max reaches over the table to take Chloe’s hand.</p><p>“Remember the last time we were here?” she says.</p><p>Chloe wishes like hell she didn’t. The last time she sat in this booth with Max, she was at death’s door not a week later.</p><p><em>No, wait, that’s not it. </em>What the fuck’s up with her memory all of a sudden? The last time they were here together was just before Christmas, the day Max came clean to her mom about their relationship, prompting Vanessa to invite Chloe up to Seattle with them for the holidays. Now <em>that’s </em>a memory worth grinning about, like Max is doing right now.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chloe does her best to return her girlfriend’s smile and tries her hand at a little teasing. “Remember how much you freaked out before, then you just rocked up and told your mom how gay you are? Fucking awesome, dude.”</p><p>“I thought so, too,” Max leans back in her seat and lifts her chin as though basking in the adoration of an invisible crowd. Good to see she’s still riding the high of knowing she’s not dying.</p><p>They talk a little more, mostly about Max’s plans for the day; breakfast, then homework, then hanging with Kate, maybe watching one of her movies or going somewhere for lunch. They don’t talk about Chloe’s plans. Both of them know exactly what Chloe has to do today, and there’s a definite undertone of knowing or wondering what it might mean for them, but in order to preserve the mood, that all goes unsaid.</p><p>Joyce returns with their omelettes and a plate of hash browns they didn’t ask for.</p><p>“On me. We’ll call it making up for everything you didn’t eat this week,” she smiles warmly at Chloe. “Enjoy.”</p><p>“Have you really not been eating?” Max asks, her voice dropping lower and becoming more serious.</p><p>Chloe doesn’t exactly respond, not wanting to worry Max, but her silence says enough for Max to tilt her head and bite her lip in a worried kind of way. She lets out a small, sympathetic sound and squeezes Chloe’s hand extra hard for a long few seconds.</p><p>The portions are always generous at the Two Whales, even more so when Joyce is on shift and doing her best to counteract her daughter’s stress-induced shitty eating habits. Even so, Chloe’s food disappears quickly. She’s hungry as hell after a week spent running mostly on cigarettes and caffeine, with the occasional snack just to keep her body in the habit of consuming solid food. By the time Max is halfway through her bacon omelette, a clean plate sits in front of Chloe, and half the hash browns are gone. She’s also downed two cups of coffee with cream and sugar, and as Max’s steady progress continues, Chloe goes hunting through her pockets to see if she’s got enough change for a donut from the glass case on the counter.</p><p><em>When all this shit’s over, I’m gonna start eating healthier, </em>she tells herself. For now, nothing’s too wrong with a short-term bit of stress-eating. It’s gonna be a stressful day, more than likely. She doesn’t have enough for a donut, anyway, and she doesn’t want to test Joyce’s generosity. Now her life’s returning to something like normal, she wonders how long it’s going to be until her mom ramps up her <em>gentle encouragement </em>for Chloe to get a job.</p><p>After breakfast and a quick smoke break – Max is quitting, doctor’s orders, so Chloe takes her morning cigarette behind the diner while Max waits in the car – they return to Blackwell.</p><p>“You good?” Max says as Chloe pulls up in the parking lot.</p><p>“I guess,” Chloe tries to meet her gaze, but that turns out to be a shitload harder than she’d reckoned for. Max pauses briefly, thoughtful and plainly unconvinced.</p><p>“Turn around,” she says.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Turn around,” she repeats, “and take your jacket off. You’re all tense.”</p><p>Chloe obeys, shrugging out of her black leather jacket, letting it puddle on the seat between them as she turns her back on Max. Quickly she feels a sense of pressure on her neck as slender fingers, callused from years of guitar-playing, get to work on her tight muscles.</p><p>“Ah…” she sighs.</p><p>Max gives the best neck massages. Chloe sometimes wonders if anyone else knows that, or if it’s just a secret between the two of them. Whatever the case, she can already feel the tension in her body leaching out as Max works.</p><p><em>I’ve gotta get a full-body massage off this girl, </em>she thinks, and smirks to herself.</p><p>“Better?” Max’s voice perks up playfully as Chloe relaxes against her.</p><p>“Much better,” Chloe’s response comes out as a pleasurable groan.</p><p>“Hm, I can tell,” Max leans over Chloe’s shoulder to dash off a quick kiss on her cheek. “How are you feeling about later?”</p><p>“I…really don’t wanna get into that shit right now,” Chloe admits, turning her head to meet Max’s lips with her own. “I’m gonna do it, and hopefully it’s all gonna turn out fine.”</p><p>“It will,” Max says, calmly reassuring.</p><p>Chloe turns around to kiss her again without having to twist her neck and risk undoing all of Max’s hard work by fucking up her neck muscles yet again. Max leans eagerly into the kiss, and for all the time their lips are touching, Chloe’s actually sure that it <em>is </em>all gonna turn out fine. Just one more bit of unfinished business, and then she can get back to her life, spending time with her awesome, beautiful girlfriend whose family love her, figuring out her future and just having as good of a time as she can. When they come apart, both are smiling.</p><p>“You’re gonna do great,” Max says. “You wanna come over tonight?”</p><p>“I should probably be home, actually. Now she knows you’re fine, Joyce might flip her shit if I’m out of the house for another night in a row.”</p><p>“Let me know if you change your mind,” she lifts her butt up off the seat to close in for one final kiss. “Love you.”</p><p>“Love you too.”</p><p>With that, Max is away, back to her room to get on with her plans for the day. Time for Chloe to do the same.</p><p>She gets back home around eleven, pausing to accept Trooper’s enthusiastic greeting before heading upstairs to change and go over the little plan she’s been working on for this afternoon.</p><p>
  <em>Find out where the hell Rachel’s been. Find out what she knows, why she left, why she never said goodbye. Tell her I’m with Max now. So long and good luck, Rachel Amber. I’ll always love you a little bit, and all that other mushy crap.</em>
</p><p>She spends the remaining couple of hours before she leaves pacing her room, repeating the plan to herself and practicing her breathing. All her years of therapy and anger management finally turn out to be good for something; when she gets behind the wheel of her truck again, her head is clear. A sense of purpose, the kind she hasn’t felt since Rachel disappeared, fills her body and mind. Or maybe that’s just the remaining caffeine and sugar in her system from breakfast. Whatever. It gets the job done.</p><p>The Arcadia Hills motel is a pretty nondescript place. Chloe’s been here once before, probably ten years ago now, when something at home went so badly wrong they couldn’t stay and her dad got a room for the three of them until whatever it was – gas leak, maybe? – got fixed. Seen from the forecourt, it doesn’t look as though the place has changed that much since then. As if on cue, her phone vibrates in her pocket.</p><p><em>Room 305, </em>the message reads.</p><p>Did she just see a curtain twitch in one of those windows above her? Rachel’s knows she’s here; she’s watching her. Suddenly, she’s not feeling so hot. That massive breakfast may have been a mistake. It’s sitting like lead in her stomach.</p><p>
  <em>Time to go, Price. Don’t blow it now.</em>
</p><p>She makes her way up the stairs and walks up the row of doors, with their little brass numbers. <em>301, 302, 303, 304…Christ, this is it…305.</em></p><p>
  <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stick to the plan.</em>
</p><p>With a great effort, she raises her hand to knock on 305’s door. In the quiet of the lazy Saturday afternoon, she swears she can hear light footsteps heading in her direction from the other side of that unremarkable slab of dark wood. A lock clicks.</p><p>Chloe Price – the new, improved, mature Chloe Price, coma survivor and dedicated girlfriend – is a forgiving person, at least to the people who matter. She can forgive Max for bailing on her for five long years, forgive David for treating her like crap, forgive Victoria Chase for being a pathological bitch, even forgive her mom for <em>almost </em>pulling the plug on her. They all had their reasons, and new Chloe is nothing if not understanding.</p><p>When that door opens, the young woman who meets her is completely unfamiliar. Her hair is so black it can only be a dye job, and thick glasses distort the exact shape of her bright hazel eyes. If not for the look that lights up her face at the sight of Chloe, she could be a total stranger. They could have passed each other on the street a thousand times and Chloe never would have known her. But then again, she always was one hell of an actress.</p><p>“Hello, Chloe,” says the disguised Rachel Amber. “Come on in. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”</p><p><em>Forgiving </em>and <em>understanding </em>are no longer words that apply to Chloe Price. Clenching her fists against the boiling rush of anger, she waits for Rachel to politely step aside and walks, as calmly as she can, into the slightly musty motel room.</p><p>It’ll be easier to <em>really </em>let this lying, manipulative, selfish, narcissistic, psychopathic bitch have it when that door locks behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one runs on for a bit, huh?</p><p>There was a lot I wanted to get in - fluff, implied smut, lots of introspection and not forgetting the actual plot - and while I did consider spacing it out over two or more chapters, I decided against it. So, a little more than usual for you guys to read, and less waiting to see what happens next hopefully.</p><p>As ever, thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed, drop a comment to let me know what you thought (or don't, I'm not your boss). Next chapter coming at some point soon. I don't know when exactly, but it will be coming.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. As Fucked Up As It is</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, do you want to go first, or shall I?”</p>
<p>From the way Rachel speaks, it might have been no more than a month since the last time they saw each other. Someone looking in, not knowing the whole story, would think the two young women in the motel room, standing at an uneasy distance, were just two perfectly normal friends about to have a perfectly normal catch-up, after a short and uneventful period of separation during which neither of them died or disappeared from the face of the planet.</p>
<p>“I guess I’ll go,” says Chloe, following a long, controlled exhale through her nose.</p>
<p>“Go right ahead,” Rachel takes a seat on the bed. Chloe remains standing. “Ask me anything.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Who the fuck do you think you are? Who even are you, really, under all the bullshit and drama and disguises? What the fuck do you think gives you the right to come back into my life after everything you did, everything I did for you, everything that happened to me because of you? Do you even care?</em>
</p>
<p>“Where’ve you been?” Chloe asks. Woefully inadequate for what she’s feeling, but she’s gotta start somewhere.</p>
<p>“Colorado,” Rachel says. “I’ve been living with my aunt.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t even know you had an aunt.”</p>
<p>“Technically, she’s my mom’s cousin. My real mom, that is. Sera. I looked her up before I left, and I’ve been staying at her place ever since.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Ever since you stole a corpse and skipped town without even saying goodbye.</em>
</p>
<p>“How was it?”</p>
<p>The anger roiling in Chloe’s gut only heats up further as she hears that lame, limp, conversational bullshit falling flatly off her tongue. What the fuck is she doing? She stepped across that threshold ready to chew Rachel out, to yell, scream, let her know just how much it hurt Chloe when she left. Can she do it? Can she bring down all that shit on the girl she once loved?</p>
<p>“Not too different from here, really,” Rachel says with a shrug. “Standard small town. My aunt’s nice enough. She…wasn’t too thrilled when I turned up at first, but we started getting along quickly. I finished my high school diploma online, then I got a job in the diner there, just to pay the bills while I was figuring out my next move. If things hadn’t turned out like they did, I think I could’ve been happy there for a while, and once I started dyeing my hair and stopped wearing my contacts, nobody even looked at me twice unless I wanted them to.”</p>
<p>That, Chloe doubts. Even without her luxurious blonde hair and with those thick, nerdy glasses, Rachel Amber is gorgeous as ever.</p>
<p>“You’d like it there too. It’s a very pretty place.”</p>
<p><em>What the fuck is going on? </em>This is <em>not </em>how Chloe pictured their reunion, this totally unemotional affair of stilted small talk. Whether or not she really was going to scream at Rachel – something which only occurred to her to do when she laid eyes on the girl – she always assumed meeting her again after everything would be a pretty explosive event.</p>
<p>“Chloe, whatever you think of me, I need you to know I wouldn’t have left if I’d had any choice,” Rachel continues. “I care about you very much. Staying away, not even being able to talk to you, to anyone…it was hell, Chloe. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”</p>
<p>Her eyes are wet. She removes her glasses for a second to brush away a few tears with the back of her hand before they can escape to roll down her cheeks and make a mess of her subtle but expertly-done makeup. It’s a strangely human action from a girl who once seemed so ethereal and otherworldly, and somehow <em>that’s </em>the thing that finally flips Chloe’s kill switch. No more pleasantries, no more stalling, no more <em>listening</em>; she’s letting Rachel know exactly what’s on her mind.</p>
<p>“You wanna talk about hell?” she snaps, voice barely rising. “How about all those fucking months I spent not knowing where you were, not even knowing if you were alive? Jesus fucking Christ, would it have killed you to send me a text?”</p>
<p>“Chloe…” Rachel begins, but Chloe’s not done.</p>
<p>“I looked for you! I was out there putting up your posters for months after the cops stopped being bothered! Everything I could think of to do, I did it. After you left, after you just fucked off without a goddamn word, I didn’t sleep for a week. I didn’t eat right for months. All I could think about was finding you, and now you fucking show up like everything’s fine, and you wanna talk to <em>me </em>about hell?”</p>
<p>This time, when Chloe pauses for breath, Rachel doesn’t attempt to cut her off or jump in and try to explain herself. Chloe starts in again, months of fear and anger and bitterness rising to the surface and breaking through.</p>
<p>“And you know what the worst part was? Worse than the nightmares, worse than spending two months in a coma, worse than finding out you were screwing around on me with fucking<em> Frank? </em>I blamed <em>myself. </em>All the time I thought I’d fucked up so bad you’d just skipped town instead of having to see me again! Rachel, when I couldn’t get hold of you, when I started thinking about that, I…”</p>
<p>Can she say it? She’s never told anyone; not even Max knows the truth on the tip on her tongue. Joyce and David may suspect, she thinks, but they don’t <em>know. </em>She falters, pauses, swallows hard and spits it out.</p>
<p>“I tried to kill myself, Rachel. I OD’d in the junkyard and I would’ve been dead if I hadn’t been found by a couple of weirdos looking for someplace fun to fuck.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my God…” Rachel brings her hands up to her mouth as Chloe goes silent, feeling the weight of what she’s just said. <em>I tried to kill myself. </em>You don’t say those words and then just go right back to yelling.</p>
<p>“I loved you,” Chloe says, pleading with her voice not to break. “I loved you, and you left me, and I couldn’t take it, and…”</p>
<p>Tears are now freely streaming down Rachel’s face. She gets to her feet. A few quick steps and she’s standing right in front of Chloe, biting her lip hard to keep more sobs at bay, arms reaching out…</p>
<p><em>“Don’t fucking touch me!” </em>Chloe hisses and throws an arm out to maintain the distance between them. Rachel jumps back as though she’s been scalded.</p>
<p>“Please, Chloe,” Rachel almost whispers, choked up with emotion. Once upon a time, that deep, unbearable sadness in her voice would have compelled Chloe to throw herself into the other girl’s arms and hold her tight until it passed, but now it only sparks a fresh jolt of fury.</p>
<p><em>“You left me!” </em>she yells. “You said you loved me while you were fucking around behind my back with Frank and who the fuck even knows who else, and then you <em>just fucking left me!”</em></p>
<p>If there’s anyone in room 304, they’re definitely hearing this. Chloe doesn’t care. It’s taken her this long to even realise how she really feels, how she’s been feeling since last year, and no fucking way is she letting it keep eating away at her. Whether Rachel likes it or not, it’s all gotta be said. If Chloe tries to hold back now, she might actually spontaneously combust. Her voice has recovered from its break a moment ago; when she resumes after a quick break to let her words really hit Rachel where it hurts, the rage returns, hot and terrible.</p>
<p>“After I finally accepted you weren’t coming back, and I couldn’t just kill myself and make it go away, I did just about everything I could to try and forget you, or distract myself. Drugs, drinking, fucking gross strangers…<em>fucking Christ, </em>I get sick when I think about some of the stupid shit I did back then. You really fucked me up, but you know what’s worse?”</p>
<p>Rachel says nothing, gives no sign she’s even hearing Chloe except for a weird muffled half-sob. Chloe’s furious voice drops to a low, menacing hiss.</p>
<p>“After all that shit, after everything I went through because of you, now you wanna come back into my life and act like nothing’s changed, like everything’s fine, and we can just pick up where we left off.”</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>“And you haven’t even said <em>sorry </em>yet, you fucking <em>bitch!”</em></p>
<p>The B-word. One Chloe used to use about a hundred times a day when referring to women, men, children, dogs, Victoria Chase, inanimate objects, feelings, abstract concepts or pretty much anything else she couldn’t think of a better word for. Even now, with a little more maturity, it’s never far from her lips. It’s just a good word; punchy, explosive, explicit. <em>Bitch</em>. Unfortunately, it’s also a step too far.</p>
<p>Rachel’s hazel eyes darken. Chloe doesn’t even see the slap coming, but she hears it, and she feels it.</p>
<p>As she turns her head back from where it’s snapped around, feels her cheek starting to burn, she looks into Rachel’s face fully intending to return the favour and realises she can’t. Her hand won’t move. That look, those <em>eyes…</em></p>
<p><em>There’s </em>the girl she once loved. <em>There </em>are the fireworks she always knew this meeting would bring.</p>
<p>The sound of the smack seems to hang in the thin, musty air long after Rachel’s hand has returned to her side.  It’s not the hardest she’s ever been hit – not even the hardest <em>Rachel’s </em>ever hit her in some of the wilder moments of their relationship – but the effect it has on her is one she could never have anticipated.</p>
<p>“Is that it?” she growls, taking half a step back, spreading her arms wide, daring Rachel to try it again.</p>
<p>“What?” Rachel looks at Chloe as though just seeing her clearly for the first time.</p>
<p>“Come on!” Chloe shouts.</p>
<p>Something’s waking up inside her, some long-dormant, destructive part of her psyche, the part that wants pain because as long as she can feel pain, she can feel <em>something, </em>and that’s better than nothing. Chloe’s about five inches taller than Rachel in her boots, probably outweighs her by twenty pounds, and her years of getting into fights and bad situations have toughened her. If she wanted to, she knows she could comfortably put a beating on the girl in front of her. But she doesn’t. All she wants, all she really wants, is to get something more out of her than crocodile tears. And if that means getting Rachel to smack her again, so fucking be it.</p>
<p>For a second, it looks like Rachel actually might hit her again. Her hand twitches by her side as though she’s just itching to do it, but then with a huge, deep breath, she becomes still.</p>
<p>“No,” she says, quietly but firmly. “Chloe, I’m sorry. For everything.”</p>
<p><em>Finally. </em>Does hearing that make Chloe feel any better? Not as much as she’d hoped it might.</p>
<p>“If I could go back in time and change everything that happened, I’d do it, no matter what it took. But you have to believe, Chloe, I wouldn’t have done it like I did if I’d had any other choice.”</p>
<p>“You had a choice,” Chloe snaps. “You could’ve told me you were going. I…I could’ve helped you. Whatever kind of shit you were in, you know I would’ve done anything for you back then.”</p>
<p>“And now? Would you still do anything for me?”</p>
<p>“Not even close.”</p>
<p>That has to be the answer Rachel was expecting, but her disappointment still shows openly on her face, no, her whole body; her shoulders sag as though she’d deflating and the straight line her lips are set in begins to tremble.</p>
<p>
  <em>If she starts crying again, I might actually hit her.</em>
</p>
<p>“I get it,” she says, once she’s composed herself a little.</p>
<p>“You still haven’t told me why you left,” Chloe presses, not caring for the sadness in Rachel’s eyes, way past feeling sorry for her old lover.</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” says Rachel, downcast.</p>
<p><em>Try me, </em>says the voice in Chloe’s head. After all the crazy shit she’s heard, seen and lived, she highly doubts anything Rachel might say could be beyond belief, unless she starts claiming she was abducted by aliens or kidnapped by terrorists as part of some aborted plot to assassinate the President. <em>Try me, </em>she wants to say. But somehow, the words won’t come to her.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Rachel,” she says. “You don’t have anything to say to me. Maybe I should just go.”</p>
<p>She shakes her head, dislodging all her uneasy feelings about leaving things unsaid, and makes for the door.</p>
<p>“Wait.”</p>
<p>When she turns back around to face Rachel for hopefully the last time, she sees her standing, back straight, eyes focused, arms slightly open. Chloe hesitates, wondering whether to move in and accept it or get the fuck out and slam the door in Rachel’s face.</p>
<p>“Please,” she says softly. “Chloe, please, just one more time.”</p>
<p>It’s not a totally unreasonable request, Chloe supposes. Rachel <em>did </em>come all this way just to see her again, and whatever either of them feels now, Chloe has to admit she <em>did </em>love her once. That that’s over and done with should go without saying – and Max might have something to say about it before Chloe could even start – but there’s nothing too wrong with a simple hug. It might even do her some good, clear the air after all the unpleasantness and finally say goodbye forever.</p>
<p>She makes herself forget everything she’s said, stepping into Rachel’s arms and returning her embrace. A soft, sweet scent tickles her nose as Rachel’s head tucks in under her chin.</p>
<p><em>Jasmine. </em>She’s still wearing that old jasmine perfume. Behind the dyed hair and glasses, a trace of the old Rachel Amber remains for those who knew her the best. Catching that scent again stirs up all kinds of feelings Chloe thought she’d forgotten, and for once, she doesn’t try to fight them and just lets herself get lost in it while they cling to each other. Her arms wrap tight around Rachel’s slender shoulders while Rachel’s encircle her waist.</p>
<p>She doesn’t keep track of how long they spend in this position. All she registers is a tickle against her chin when Rachel pulls back a little to look up and meet Chloe’s eyes. And when she does that, Chloe kisses her like it’s the most normal thing in the world.</p>
<p>She didn’t come here planning to kiss her. Honestly, she didn’t; she certainly didn’t plan to switch her grip to Rachel’s waist and pull her in to deepen the kiss, but when your every sense is filled with Rachel Amber, it’s difficult to really stick to any kind of plan and not get caught up in the moment.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>Chloe,” </em>Rachel gasps, pulling her lips away for just an instant before diving back into it with nine months of pent-up passion. And, as Chloe’s reminded, Rachel is not just a hell of an actress but a hell of a kisser, too. Within seconds, her knees are getting weak, making her cling tighter to the black-haired blonde or risk collapsing on this cheap-ass motel room carpet.</p>
<p><em>Fuck, she’s really going for this. Guess that’s what nine months of not getting any does to you. </em>If her lips weren’t currently busy, Chloe might be tempted to chuckle or make a joke about it. Not that she doesn’t understand; she remembers how it feels, how hard she went for it her first time with…</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit!</em>
</p>
<p>She jerks her head away, followed by her whole body, breaking the kiss and fighting her way out of Rachel’s arms so fast that she doesn’t quite have her legs beneath her yet. She throws an arm out behind her to steady herself against the wall.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is really fucked up.</em>
</p>
<p>She shuts her eyes tight as she leans on the wall. A part of her hopes this is just a weird dream, and when she opens them, she’ll be safely in bed with Max snoozing next to her, calm and comfortable.</p>
<p>No such luck. Rachel’s still there, regarding her with a look of deep confusion and worry. <em>Crap. </em>Time to fess up, come clean, break her heart, whatever.</p>
<p>“We shouldn’t have done that,” she says. “I…I’m actually seeing someone.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Someone gorgeous and funny and kind and caring, who gives me neck rubs and tells me she loves me about ten times a day, who’s the sweetest girl in the world and a total little animal in the sack, someone who’s been my best friend since way before I even knew your name.</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh,” Rachel’s eyes widen before dropping their gaze to the floor as she bites her lip.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry…”</p>
<p>“No, don’t be,” says Rachel. “Like I said, it was…it was stupid of me to think we could pick up where we left off.”</p>
<p>“Rachel, I…” Chloe struggles to find the words, choosing each one with the utmost care. “Rachel, I think there’s a part of me, maybe, that isn’t over us yet, but I’ve gotta be good now.”</p>
<p>“I get it,” Rachel smiles sadly.</p>
<p>Sometimes, the air gets so thick with tension, people say you could cut it with a knife. Chloe wonders just how big of a knife she’d need to saw through all this. A sword, maybe, or a battle axe might do it. An ordinary knife wouldn’t make a dent.</p>
<p>“So…we good?” she says, after far too long of a pause.</p>
<p>“As good as we’ll ever be, I think,” says Rachel. “I hope she treats you right.”</p>
<p>“She does.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Whereas I apparently treat her like crap. Case in point, about two minutes ago.</em>
</p>
<p>“Well, I’m happy for you,” Rachel smiles as though it’s no big deal. “You deserve some happiness and stability in your life, Chloe. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I came back and stirred up all this crazy stuff again. Maybe it was selfish, but I couldn’t just go on with my life and never see you again. I hope you understand.”</p>
<p>“I guess I do,” Chloe nods, shifting her feet uneasily, suddenly taken by a powerful urge to get as far away from this room as she can.</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing each other again?”</p>
<p>“Probably not,” Chloe admits.</p>
<p>“I understand. Better for both of us if I keep away, huh?”</p>
<p>“Mm-hm,” Chloe’s struggling not to make a run for the door right now.</p>
<p>“Well, I think you’d better go before I start getting emotional,” Rachel says, half jokey and half devastated “Goodbye, Chloe. I…I <em>won’t </em>see you around.”</p>
<p>“Bye, Rachel.”</p>
<p>She’s not consciously aware of opening the door, stepping through it, walking down the stairs and crossing the lot to her truck. Her mind might as well be absent from her body as she turns the key in the ignition, drives away from the motel and joins the road back to town. Only when she’s at a safe distance does she finally come off autopilot, pulling over in a shaded spot just off the road.</p>
<p>Then, she lets herself think what she’s been dying to think since she left Rachel’s room.</p>
<p>
  <em>I kissed Rachel. I fucking kissed Rachel, when the only person I’m supposed to kiss right now is Max.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I cheated on Max.</em>
</p>
<p>Was it cheating? It’s not like they had sex, or even got to second base, even if for a second there it honestly felt like that was the direction they were heading in. Just a kiss. Nothing more. It’s…well, not <em>fine, </em>not by a long way, but it’s not the worst thing that could have happened. It’s manageable. She’s not happy about it, but she can live with it. She’ll just explain it to Max. Max will understand.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit, what if she doesn’t?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She will.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But what if she doesn’t?</em>
</p>
<p>Chloe forces herself to stop thinking, stop making everything worse, and just breathes, gripping the steering wheel tightly and closing her eyes until her mind’s settled enough to start approaching the situation rationally.</p>
<p>She’s done wrong. That much is certain. She didn’t go into this planning to do anything stupid like kissing her ex and almost going further, but she did. She fucked up, plain and simple.</p>
<p>When she left her this morning, Max seemed so confident that nothing like this would happen. Maybe those weren’t her exact words, but it was heavily implied. She <em>trusted </em>Chloe not to do anything that might hurt either of them. Now, it seems, Chloe’s broken that trust, and breaking the trust of someone who loves you is a pretty unambiguously shitty thing to do.</p>
<p>On the other hand, Chloe stopped herself before things got any heavier than that kiss.</p>
<p>On the <em>other </em>other hand, that kiss still definitely happened.</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p>
<p>She’ll have to come clean, of course. As soon as she can, she’ll go see Max at Blackwell, or maybe take her out someplace neutral – not the diner – and explain exactly what happened. After that, she’ll have to play it by ear. If she has to beg forgiveness, so be it. She’ll do whatever it takes, because Max is the best thing in her life, the reason she wakes up with a smile, and goddamn it, she’s not about to let herself fuck this up if it’s not already too late.</p>
<p>And, if it turns out this one stupid, idiotic mistake is enough to turn Max off her for good…</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, I thought I was supposed to be figuring this out, not making it worse.</em>
</p>
<p>She screams out loud – no words, just a simple declaration of anger and frustration to no-one at all – and smacks her head hard against the wheel, instantly regretting it. The cold plastic is unforgiving. Now she’s got a headache, on top of everything else.</p>
<p>She’s not ready to face Max just yet. Nor is she ready to go home. Briefly, she wonders if she could turn to Kate. The girl’s kind, understanding and forgiving enough to be dating Victoria, who once made her life hell, and she’s welcomed Chloe with open arms in previous bad times.</p>
<p>No. No way; Kate’s too close with Max, and something tells Chloe she’s not the kind of person you trust with something like this. Too honest.</p>
<p>The sky is starting to darken, a weak winter sun painting grey clouds a deep orange when Chloe, at her wit’s end, pulls up by the waterfront in search of the only person she might be able to talk to right now.</p>
<p>Frank’s sat in his old deckchair outside his van, beer in one hand, joint in the other, Pompidou curled up by his feet. When the dog sees Chloe, his ears prick up as he barks out a greeting.</p>
<p>“Chloe,” says Frank, looking her over suspiciously. “What d’you want?”</p>
<p>“Pass it over,” she gestures to the joint he’s smoking, causing him to frown.</p>
<p>“How many times? I’m not your fucking friend, Chloe.”</p>
<p>“And yet you send me cards when I’m sick and don’t break my legs when I owe you money,” Chloe doesn’t bother to keep the hostility out of her voice. “How about we skip this whole <em>I’m so mean </em>bullshit for once, and you just pass it the fuck over?”</p>
<p>A few emotions flash through Frank’s stoned eyes before he realises that nothing he can do, short of causing her harm, will make Chloe leave him alone.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he grunts, handing her the joint.</p>
<p>There’s no other chair, and asking him to go get one from inside the RV would be pushing it, so Chloe sits on the cold ground, stretching out her legs as Pompidou sniffs at her jeans. She puts the joint to her lips and inhales, sucking down a good lungful of smoke that burns on her throat and makes her chest tighten. The mild discomfort, like Frank’s grumpiness, is a small price to pay to be able to detach her mind a little and not have to be alone with her thoughts.</p>
<p>“Go easy on that,” says Frank. “That’s my personal supply, not the crap I sell to schoolkids.”</p>
<p>“Nice to know you care,” Chloe says, taking another long drag before passing it back.</p>
<p>“So, and I just wanna remind you that no, I don’t fucking care, you wanna talk about whatever the hell it is that’s crawled up your ass lately?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” Chloe lies, wondering if he’ll take the bait and try to press her a little more, or just accept it and let her sit in silence.</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” Frank shrugs, leaning back in his chair to exhale a long stream of pungent smoke. “Look, I can tell something’s wrong. If you wanna talk, you go ahead.”</p>
<p>“I thought you weren’t my fucking friend?” Chloe looks up at him, one eyebrow cocked.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>not</em>,” he says firmly. “I just know how it is when something’s eatin’ away at you and you feel like you got nobody to talk to. It’s shit, and you’ve had enough shit. I don’t have to be your fucking friend to know that. Here,” he holds out the joint.</p>
<p>Neither of them says anything much for a while, just passing the joint back and forth until it’s done with and the sun is almost set over the sea.</p>
<p>“Hey, Frank?” Chloe says, unable to keep it in any longer.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Have you ever, you know…fucked something up really badly? Like, so bad you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to fix it?”</p>
<p>“More than you know,” he says. He doesn’t look at her. Instead, his eyes are fixed straight ahead, watching the sunset intently.</p>
<p>“What do you do?”</p>
<p>“What did <em>you </em>do, Chloe?”</p>
<p>“Does it matter?” she tries not to sound so defensive, but she can’t help it, and though he still doesn’t take his eyes off the sea, she swears his expression softens a little.</p>
<p>“I guess not,” he says, and sighs. “Well, when you screw something up that bad, you can either try and fix it anyway, or just accept it. ’Course, you might not be able to fix it right, and you might just fuck it up even worse, but if you feel like you got a chance, you try.”</p>
<p>“Then what? What if you do make it worse?”</p>
<p>“You live with it, as fucked up as it is.”</p>
<p>He’s oddly philosophical when he’s stoned, Chloe muses. These aren’t just the drugged up ramblings of a strange, lonely man; he’s making sense. As fucked up as it is, she turned to Frank in her hour of need, and as <em>even more </em>fucked up as it is, he helped.</p>
<p>“I’d better get home,” Chloe says, getting to her feet, waiting for some feeling to return to her legs and ass before she starts back to the truck.</p>
<p>“You good?” Frank’s tone doesn’t suggest he cares much either way, but when Chloe gives him the nod, he returns it. His face twitches weirdly. For a second, it almost looks like he might smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah, my mom’s expecting me. Thanks, Frank.”</p>
<p>“Don’t mention it,” he pulls his old trucker’s cap low over his eyes and settles further back in his chair to finish watching the sunset.</p>
<p>“I’ll catch you later. You’re…” she fights back the urge to smirk, “you’re a good friend.”</p>
<p>“I’m not your fucking friend!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Even I wasn't expecting the next chapter this soon, and I wrote the bastard thing.</p>
<p>If you think we've seen the last of Rachel, we haven't. Plenty more mad shit to be uncovered before we get to the climax of the story. Incidentally, I've figured out the climax of the story, which may be why I've been so productive lately.</p>
<p>As always, thanks for reading. Chapter twelve coming soon, though probably not quite as soon as this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Food and Good Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The end of January brings the first real sunny day of the year in Arcadia Bay. Though it’s still too cold to really enjoy the outdoors, plenty of people are when Max gets to the park. She clings to the edge of the path to avoid the runners and cyclists and clings to the bag her camera’s in, an old security-blanket kind of habit she picked up when she first started carrying her camera around with her and never quite grew out of. It’s a pretty evening; she wonders if she might have time to explore the park a little and take a few pictures before she meets up with Chloe. Even with the slightly unpleasant feeling she always gets while in public, around strangers, she’s smiling. It’ll be good to see her girlfriend somewhere that isn’t her dorm room or the diner, and even better to finally start moving forward together now Chloe’s last bit of unfinished business is, in fact, finished.</p><p>Then she sees the face of the blue-haired girl sitting on the bench, and her smile deserts her. There’s nothing at all sunny about Chloe’s disposition.</p><p>Max makes herself smile anyway and bends down to greet Chloe with a kiss. There’s none of the warmth and passion she’s come to associate with Chloe’s lips. She might as well be kissing her on a dare again, she thinks as she takes the spot next to her on the bench. Both are silent for an agonisingly long amount of time before Chloe clears her throat and speaks, staring at the patch of grass between her boots.</p><p>“I saw Rachel,” she says. Max nods. So far, nothing out of the ordinary; she knew Chloe was going to see Rachel, just to get whatever closure she could before saying goodbye for the last time.</p><p>“How’d that go?” Max has to ask, even if everything about Chloe’s tone and body language is screaming at her not to get into it.</p><p>“It was…weird.”</p><p>“Mm, I guess it was always gonna be a little weird,” Max aims for sympathy, and maybe she hits it, because Chloe actually tears her eyes off the ground and turns to look at her. They maintain eye contact for a good few seconds, until that seemingly becomes too hard for Chloe and her gaze wanders away once more. “But, you’ve done it now, right? You’ve talked to her, you’ve said whatever you needed to, and it’s done. Right?”</p><p>Chloe just kind of grunts and nods. That awful silence creeps back in. For something to do, and to show Chloe a little bit of the affection she’s usually so keen for, Max leans in to kiss her again. She doesn’t turn her head to allow their lips to meet, and Max has to make do with kissing her cheek where she really wanted to go for the lips.</p><p>“I…” Chloe sighs. “Max, I kissed her. I kissed Rachel.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s…not great.</em>
</p><p>Obviously, when they said goodbye that morning, Max wondered if Chloe still had some lingering feelings for Rachel. They never talked about it that much before, but now she’s thinking maybe they should have, if only to prevent this kind of thing from happening.</p><p>“Okay,” Max wills herself to stay calm. It was just a kiss, it didn’t mean anything.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Chloe says to her boots.</p><p>“Hey, come on,” Max rests her hand on Chloe’s arm in a light, casual touch. “So you kissed her. I’m…I’m not crazy about that as an idea, but that’s all it was, right? Just a kiss?”</p><p>That, it turns out, is completely the wrong thing to say.</p><p>“What do you mean by that?” asks Chloe, with a sideways glance and an undercurrent of hurt and anger in her voice that wasn’t there a moment ago.</p><p>“Don’t make me say it,” Max almost begs.</p><p>“Say it,” Chloe says. “Don’t try to hint at shit, Max. If you want to ask me if I cheated on you, I think you’d better fucking ask me straight up, because otherwise we’re not gonna get anywhere.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m asking,” Max keeps her own voice calm, but Chloe’s is already rising as she continues, angrier with every word.</p><p><em>“Yes, it is!</em> You’re asking me, in that stupid fucking evasive way, if I cheated on you, and I think you’d better cut the bullshit and just ask me!”</p><p>“Did you cheat on me?” Max asks, short and blunt.</p><p>
  <em>“No!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Good!”</em>
</p><p>“You sure about that?”</p><p>
  <em>“Yes!”</em>
</p><p>“Tell your fucking face!”</p><p>Both are practically yelling, on their feet, all thoughts of staying calm and not making a big deal out of this forgotten. Luckily, the bench they were sat at is a little way off the main path, with few people likely to walk by and witness their argument, but the silence that falls after Chloe angrily confirms she hasn’t cheated on Max is enough to make both girls suddenly, painfully aware that they’re shouting at each other in a public place. They each take a step back, Chloe breathing deeply and Max staring at her feet while her cheeks start to glow crimson.</p><p>“Shit,” Chloe mutters.</p><p>“Yeah,” Max nods in agreement, returning to the bench.</p><p>“Our first fight,” says Chloe as she sits back down heavily.</p><p>“Something to tell the grandkids about, huh?” Max risks a joke and draws a chuckle from Chloe, who’s gone right back to not looking at her, instead staring at her hands as she fidgets with one of her bracelets. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve…”</p><p>“No, Max, <em>I’m</em> sorry,” Chloe cuts her off gently. “I didn’t mean to get so defensive, it’s just…” she sighs, “seeing her again brought up a lot of stuff I thought I was over, and now my head’s all screwed up. Even more screwed up than before.”</p><p>“Hey, I get it,” says Max. “I…m-maybe I expected it, just a little.”</p><p>To her credit, Chloe doesn’t jump back into attack mode at hearing that. In fact, she doesn’t say anything for a long time, so Max doesn’t either, just letting her girlfriend think in silence.</p><p>“Max?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“You ever feel like…I don’t know, like we kinda rushed into this?”</p><p>“Only just now,” says Max. It’s a lie, of course; sometimes she can’t think anything else. For one thing, they’ve been together since the day Chloe returned, which used to make her feel guilty about pushing a relationship on her best friend before she’d even adjusted to the changed world she woke up into. Since then, they’ve slept in each other’s rooms more or less every night, having sex as often as possible and just throwing themselves fully into being a couple. Plus, Max wonders all the time if, as much as she loves Chloe, she’s ready to accept the idea of only being with one person romantically, intimately, sexually, for the rest of her life.</p><p>“Would…” Chloe begins, stops, sighs mightily. “Would you hate me if I said maybe we should take a break?”</p><p>“Chloe, you know I can’t hate you.”</p><p>That much is true. Even if Chloe had driven out to that motel with the expressed intention of banging Rachel Amber and not feeling bad about it at all, Max doubts she could really, fully <em>hate</em> her. The idea of taking a break, though? She absolutely can hate that, and she does, with all her heart.</p><p>“I don’t wanna leave you,” Chloe says, “but everything’s just so weird for me after all the shit that’s gone down, I-I don’t know if I can be with you right now. We can still be friends, i-if you want.”</p><p>“Mm,” Max traps her bottom lip between her teeth before she can start yelling again, about how Chloe’s taking everything the wrong way, how they don’t need to break up over a stupid little thing like a kiss, how she loves Chloe and she needs her and she’ll be there for her forever, she’s never leaving her again, and please, <em>please,</em> isn’t there anything they can do that isn’t this?</p><p>“Max, I still love you.”</p><p>“I love you too,” Max says automatically. “B-but if you think we n-need a b-break, m-maybe that’s b-best. For b-both of us.”</p><p>It’s not. Max is sure, one hundred percent, that taking a break is really not in either of their best interests. Chloe needs time to process things, sure, and if she’d just ask Max to take a step back and let her work through it, Max would do it, gladly. Putting it into words like that…<em>taking a break</em>…it just sounds too worryingly close to breaking up for her to ever be okay with it. If she had the energy to fight, she’d be fighting, but she doesn’t, and Chloe’s so convinced this is the right way, Max doesn’t say a thing against it.</p><p>“I think it’s the only thing to do,” Chloe says. “I…I just need to get into the kind of headspace where I can commit and not worry about all this crazy shit in my life anymore.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Chloe stands up and offers her hand to Max, who takes it, and finds herself pulled into a tight hug. It’s not the same as when Chloe would hold her before. The only way Max can describe it is that this is the kind of hug you give a friend, not a lover. Where Chloe would usually invite Max to tuck her head into her chest, now she only offers her leather-clad shoulder, which feels cold and rough in comparison to the soft warmth of her body.</p><p>“I’ll…I’ll see you ’round, Max. If you really need me, call me.”</p><p>“Okay,” Max nods. “You too.”</p><p>“You need a ride back to campus?”</p><p>“I’ll call Kate,” Max says quickly. If she has to spend any more time alone with Chloe, there’s no telling what might happen.</p><p>“Sure,” says Chloe, scuffing the ground awkwardly with the toe of her boot. Having said her piece, it looks like she’s in a big hurry to get out of there. Max can’t blame her.</p><p>Only, she’s not leaving. She’s hanging around, looking hesitant and unsure of herself, as though she’s waiting for Max to say something before they finally part ways.</p><p>“Be safe, Chloe,” Max forces herself to say. The words seem to sting as they come out, and her attempt at a casual, friendly tone is probably the worst acting job in history, but Chloe’s at least good enough not to make this any more unpleasant, turning and leaving with a final sad smile.</p><p>Then Max is alone, with just her camera and a faint sense of nausea for company.</p><p>
  
</p><p>*  *  *</p><p> </p><p>“I hate Mondays,” Max mutters to herself.</p><p>If anyone was around, she wouldn’t have said it. Chloe would tease her and call her a dork for saying Garfield’s catchphrase out loud, and Kate, the only other person to ever frequent Max’s room, would probably say something about how every day is a blessing, even cold, rainy, windswept days that mark the start of <em>another </em>freaking week of school, classes she only half pretends to care about and the numb, grey, listless feeling that occupies her every waking moment.</p><p>On the other hand, Chloe hasn’t spoken to her in over a month, and Kate now spends most of her evenings with Victoria, so fuck them, she’ll say whatever she wants.</p><p>For the first couple of weeks, she tried to tell herself it was fine. Chloe was going through a lot and, while Max didn’t <em>like </em>the idea of putting their relationship on hold while she figured it out, she tried to see it from Chloe’s perspective. Even with her own world of shit, she couldn’t truly understand what her girlfriend – maybe that’s her <em>former </em>girlfriend, now – had to deal with, but she could be understanding and not try to fight or get upset about Chloe doing what she felt she had to do.</p><p>As February, and a lonely Valentine’s Day, came and went, her attitude started to change. She stopped paying attention in class, stopped making the effort to remain as social as she’d ever really been, gave up on the idea of even acting like she was okay with this. She tried texting Chloe, strictly in a friendly way, just to make sure she was doing fine while being temporarily single. In return, she received exactly nothing. Her anxiety whispered nasty little things about how Chloe never needed her in the first place, and probably wouldn’t have any problems with finding someone else; her burgeoning depression told her it served her right for all those years she spent more or less ignoring Chloe while her life went to shit. Both, she suspects, were right.</p><p>It’s not like she’s stopped caring about Chloe. Far from it. When she thinks of her best friend sat alone in her room, or her junkyard hideout, she gets a horrible, sick, twisting feeling in her stomach that won’t go away no matter how hard she tries to distract herself with her assignments, her camera, her movie collection, or even the vibrator she keeps at the back of her underwear drawer.</p><p>It’s now the beginning of March. More specifically, it’s half past seven on Monday morning. Max can already hear the other girls outside in the hall – or at least she can hear Dana, and just assumes she’s talking to someone – and knows if she doesn’t emerge to shower soon, she’ll end up late for class and have to go through the ordeal of convincing teachers, friends, counsellors and probably her parents that she’s fine when she knows full well she’s not. With more effort than it really should take, she pulls herself away from the window and gathers her shower things, mentally preparing to face the world beyond her door.</p><p>Dana calls out in greeting as Max enters the bathroom. After That Week in October, while Victoria spent some time in hospital and then at home with her parents, a power vacuum emerged in which Dana came out on top as the new queen of Blackwell. Max has to admit, the cheerleader’s more popular in the role than Victoria ever was, friendly and vivacious where Victoria was cool and catty. All credit to her, Victoria seems to have accepted the regime change without complaint, preferring to spend her time with her close friends or Kate. Still a little spaced out from dissociating, staring out of the window at the rain, Max jumps at being directly addressed and feels a blush coming on, not helped by the fact that Dana’s naked except for black lace boyshorts and her ever-present smile.</p><p>
  <em>Everyone knows you’re lonely and gay, Max. Don’t make this weird by staring.</em>
</p><p>Lacking Dana’s level of body confidence, Max waits until after drawing the plastic curtain across the single free shower stall to undress. If she takes her time showering, maybe everyone else will be gone by the time she gets out. Showering with the girls always has been her least favourite part of the Blackwell experience, so she tries to either get in early or hang back until most of her classmates are already done. Plus, in her current state, the hot water on her skin is about the only thing that still feels pleasant and comforting to her, so being able to relax during her daily shower is even more important. She definitely doesn’t need to deal with anyone’s requests to borrow her shower gel – who the heck even forgets that? – or Juliet’s terrible but enthusiastic Taylor Swift impersonation.</p><p>Once clean and dressed, safely back in her room, she switches back to autopilot. It’s how she gets through most of her days; no need to feel or think much, just keep doing all the things she’s supposed to do and hope it gets better, if she can manage that. She checks her phone for something to do, and learns two things. The first is that, as expected, Chloe hasn’t messaged her in the twenty minutes she’s been away. Second, she’s got exactly nine minutes to get to English before she’s late and people – people with names like <em>Kate </em>and <em>Dana </em>– start worrying about her. With no time to get breakfast from the school canteen, she grabs a granola bar from her desk, part of her stash of quick, easy food to keep herself going when she’s not in the mood to eat properly, and munches as she walks.</p><p>She arrives to English only a couple of minutes late after sneaking a cigarette behind the pool building. Thankfully, Mrs Hoida considers that kind of lateness excusable, though Max’s appearance draws a worried glance from Kate that she feels unpleasantly on her skin. She takes her seat in the furthest corner from Mrs Hoida’s desk, near Alyssa and Stella who aren’t close enough with Max to asking any prying questions.</p><p>The rest of the day passes the same as it started, with Max only paying as much attention as she absolutely has to, feeling nothing and feeling wretched alternately, saying nothing unless spoken to first, and only then saying the bare minimum to get everyone to leave her alone. At lunch, she wanders a little way off campus to satisfy her stubborn nicotine addiction in peace. Victoria smokes behind the pool building at lunch, and anything Victoria gets out of her will get back to Kate, who’ll worry. Max doesn’t want anyone worrying about her. As she smokes, she contemplates getting the bus into town or just walking off and skipping the rest of the day. She decides against it when she remembers the school might call her parents, who’ll also worry. Besides which, leaving her bubble means she runs the risk of bumping into Chloe or Joyce.</p><p>Only when lessons have ended does she really feel safe. She retreats immediately to her room and locks the door before kicking off her shoes and curling up on her bed still in her day clothes. Her recently diminished food intake, coupled with the fact she wakes up at least three or four times a night after confusing dreams of Chloe, leaves her without much energy, and what little she does have she saves for drifting through her classes while keeping up her façade of general wellbeing. Within minutes, she’s almost asleep. How long her nap takes, she doesn’t know or care, but when she wakes up, the sky outside her window is dark.</p><p>
  <em>Knock. Knock. Knock.</em>
</p><p>“Max?” calls a voice, just audible through the wood of the door.</p><p>
  <em>Ignore it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Knock. Knock. Knock.</em>
</p><p>“Max? Max, can you please let me in?”</p><p>It’s Kate. Judging by the note of frustration in her voice, or as close as she ever gets to it, she’s been outside the door for a while.</p><p>
  <em>Knock. Knock. Knock.</em>
</p><p>“Piss off, Kate,” Max mumbles into her bed, burying her face back into her pillow.</p><p>
  <em>BANG.</em>
</p><p>“Caulfield, if you don’t get your ass up and open this door, I’m getting the fire extinguisher and smashing the lock!”</p><p>
  <em>Ugh, Victoria.</em>
</p><p><em>Let her try, </em>depression whispers. <em>Who gives a shit anyway?</em></p><p>After a moment of quiet from the other side while Kate and Victoria discuss tactics, the urge to go undisturbed wins out. Max reluctantly peels herself off her bed. Victoria <em>probably </em>won’t actually break down the door with the fire extinguisher, but if she’s acting at Kate’s behest, it’s hard to say for sure. Her head feels light, her legs unsteady as she walks to the door in her socked feet. The brief glimpse she catches of herself in the mirror only confirms what she already knows – she looks like crap.</p><p>“What?” she says, opening the door enough to just show her face without letting them see the garbage dump that is her room now.</p><p>“Can I come in, please?” says a very worried-looking Kate.</p><p>“Not a great time,” Max says flatly. “Sorry.”</p><p>“We brought food,” Kate lifts a white plastic bag. A tempting aroma, sweet and spicy and savoury, rises up on a puff of steam to tickle Max’s nose. Chinese takeout from Lucky Kitchen, a firm favourite of hers and Kate’s since their first week of school. She supposes she should at least say thanks.</p><p>“It’s kind of a mess in here,” she says, moving her body to block any possible view of the mound of mixed clean and dirty clothes on her couch or the trash pile of her desk.</p><p>“Oh,” Kate thinks for a minute. “Well, why don’t we eat in my room instead? I just cleaned yesterday.”</p><p>“I’m not hungry, Kate,” Max lies. “You two enjoy your dinner.”</p><p>She goes to shut the door and finds herself unable to do so as Victoria nimbly steps in between them, sticking one of her designer flats in the gap. Kate retreats. For a second, it looks like Victoria might start shouting again. Max wonders how bad it could really be to just slam the door as hard as she can on Victoria’s foot. Then, the tall blonde does something a thousand times worse than yelling.</p><p>“Max,” she says in a gentle voice tinged with genuine concern. “We know you haven’t been eating. We also know you’re feeling like shit all the time, and you’ve got every right to feel like that. I’m assuming, since I haven’t seen her sneaking out of your room lately, that something happened with Chloe. Now, I’m not pretending to know or understand whatever it was, but I’m pretty confident in saying you’ve done nothing wrong, and Chloe’s a total bitch and an idiot if she thinks she’s better off without you.”</p><p>Max has nothing to say to that. Victoria’s words creep into her ears like a million little needles, sharp enough to penetrate even the dense shield of numbness she’s worked so hard to build up. She wonders if she ought to defend Chloe against the accusation of being a total bitch, but Victoria starts up again before Max can open her mouth.</p><p>“What we’re trying to do here is just to make sure you get some real food in you, and maybe help you feel a little better about yourself for a while. So, with that in mind, would you please come to Katie’s room and eat with us?”</p><p>Max sighs. Obviously, there’s nothing she can do to get rid of them short of complying. She <em>is </em>hungry, too; her usual dinner, or midnight snack of another granola bar or bag of chips from her stockpile doesn’t compare to Lucky Kitchen.</p><p>“Can I get changed first?” she says. Her jeans and hoodie are distinctly rumpled from being slept in, and she guesses she should comb her hair and wash her face too if she’s really going to leave her sanctuary.</p><p>“Of course you can,” Victoria nods. “Don’t be too long, though, or dinner will get cold.”</p><p>Five minutes later, dressed in clean pyjamas fresh from the couch pile, Max emerges to find Victoria waiting with a gentle smile.</p><p>“Come on,” she says, leading Max across the hall to Kate’s room, where Kate’s already breaking out paper plates and napkins and pouring green tea into three mugs set around a circle of cushions on the floor.</p><p>“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got all our favourites,” Kate says as she unloads several plastic containers and paper bags onto a picnic blanket in the middle of the circle.</p><p>Max takes a seat, wishing she could just run back to her room until she sees Kate’s smile. It’s been a while since she saw that kind of smile, not masking worry or sympathy, just open, warm and friendly, as if inviting her to join them for dinner tonight was a simple, spontaneous decision. Victoria checks her phone for a little longer than necessary while Kate makes a big thing of adjusting her cushion. Max knows they’re both waiting for her to start first, so she goes for it.</p><p>Kate wasn’t lying, not that she ever would. Every one of Max’s favourite Lucky Kitchen dishes is set out between the three of them; crispy chow mein, shrimp fried rice, spring rolls, dumplings, orange chicken. She transfers a little of everything to her plate with a plastic fork, eating slowly and sipping at her tea while Kate and Victoria go to town on what’s left. By the time Max has finished most of her plate, she’s feeling better than she has in a long time – not great, exactly, but warm and full and cared for.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, summoning up as much feeling as she can.</p><p>“You’re very welcome,” says Kate. “I know you’d do the same for me.”</p><p>“Mm,” Max picks at her rice, wondering if she really would. She’s a great friend in theory, but if their roles were reversed, she doesn’t quite know if she’d go through with something like this. Judging by the loving glances Kate and Victoria shoot each other when they think Max isn’t looking, the chances of finding out are pretty slim, though. Victoria sets her mug down carefully by her plate and leans forward slightly.</p><p>“You know, Max, we’ve been thinking a little…”</p><p>A knock at the door interrupts her. Whoever’s there doesn’t wait for an answer before opening it and stepping into Kate’s room, which was already feeling just a little cramped with three people inside. Dana enters, smiling and looking pretty much radiant even in sweatpants and a loose Bigfoots t-shirt, causing Kate to look down at her plate and Victoria to take on a look of great displeasure.</p><p>“Was there something you didn’t understand about <em>not tonight?” </em>she says, displaying none of the warmth with which she spoke to Max earlier.  </p><p>“Excuse me?” says the new queen of the dorms, looking imperiously down her nose at her predecessor, still seated on the floor. “If you don’t want me here, Victoria, that’s fine. Just say the word and I’ll let you enjoy your little lesbian dinner party in peace.”</p><p><em>“Fucking excuse me?” </em>Victoria bristles, rising to her feet. A second later, she’s in Dana’s face, glaring daggers. Dana’s taller, though not by much, but the added muscle on the cheerleader’s body suggests that if things were to get ugly between them, Dana would come out on top. The sudden display of aggression makes Max wish she could just sink into the floor and disappear.</p><p>“No fighting!” Kate gets up. Being the only one still seated leaves Max feeling even smaller, yet somehow not small enough. She positions herself between the two taller girls and looks totally prepared to pry them apart physically if it comes to that. Seeing it’s now two against one, Dana takes a step back as Victoria takes her girlfriend’s hand and breathes out through her nose in a way that reminds Max suddenly and painfully of Chloe.</p><p>“Dana,” Kate says calmly, “we asked you not to come in right now, but since you’re here, would you like to sit down?”</p><p>“What’s going on here?” Max finds her voice against all odds.</p><p><em>Something’s </em>going on. Kate and Victoria’s plans to help Max out of her depressive funk extend a little further than this meal. She’s been suspecting as much for a while, but now it’s obvious, and Dana’s clearly involved. Dana takes a seat, just slightly too close to Max, and helps herself to a crispy dumpling without asking.</p><p>“What’s going on here, Super Max, is an intervention,” she says, biting the dumpling in half.</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t use that word,” says Kate.</p><p>“I get it, Max,” Dana continues. “It feels like hell, especially the first time, but at some point you need to pull yourself together and get back out there.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” says Max warily.</p><p>“Getting broken up with, sweetie. It’s shitty.”</p><p>“Chloe didn’t break up with me!”</p><p>The strength in Max’s voice surprises her, though maybe not as much as it surprises the others. Dana pauses midway through reaching for a second dumpling, eyes widening. Victoria’s still looking at Dana as though she’d be much happier without her in the room. Kate leans in and touches Max’s arm lightly.</p><p>“If you don’t mind me asking, Max, what did happen exactly?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, crap.</em>
</p><p>She’s backed herself into a bit of a corner here. In letting them know, emphatically, what <em>didn’t </em>happen, she now doesn’t see any way of getting through this conversation without telling them what <em>did</em> happen. If it was just Kate alone, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Even Kate and Victoria, she guesses she could manage. But Dana…she’s nice, and they’ve been friendly enough before, but does she really need to know all that?</p><p>“I…Chloe did something,” she says, keeping it as vague as possible. “Nothing really serious, but…we talked…she told me about it, and m-maybe I said something stupid and she took it the wrong way, and we kind of had a fight and…”</p><p><em>Say it. </em>She needs to say it, if for no other reason than you can’t just leave it at <em>and.</em></p><p>“We decided it was b-best if we took a b-break from each other.”</p><p>“Oh…” Kate rubs Max’s arm sympathetically.</p><p>“Bitch,” says Victoria.</p><p>“Tori!” says Kate, scandalised.</p><p>“What? Everything Max has done for her, and she just dumps her over something that wasn’t even her fault? Total bitch move.”</p><p>“She didn’t dump me!” Max almost shouts, taking note of the worrying wobble in her voice.</p><p>Silence falls. Max takes a calming sip of her tea as she considers getting up and walking from the room without another word. She can’t keep defending herself, or Chloe, whoever she’s really defending here, and it hardly seems worth trying. They’ll believe what they want to believe, like people always do. She’ll have to thank Kate and Victoria for dinner, of course, and Dana has to deserve some gratitude for trying to help, but whatever scheme they’ve cooked up, Max is almost certain she wants no part of it. About a second before she plans to put down her cup and leave, Dana catches her eye.</p><p>“Max, sweetie, it’s been over a month since Chloe came here,” she says. “I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry to be the one to say it, but I think it might be over between you guys.”</p><p><em>No. No, </em>it can’t be over, they’re just on a break, Chloe’s just figuring some stuff out and needs some alone time.</p><p>
  <em>Five weeks’ alone time and counting.</em>
</p><p>Panic setting in, Max looks to Kate, but then she remembers that Kate knows as much about relationships as she does, so she turns to Victoria instead, desperately seeking any kind of indication or reassurance that maybe there might be a chance that she and Chloe could get back together, once Chloe’s done getting her head straight.</p><p>Victoria gives her a small, sad nod.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, dog, it’s over.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck,” she whispers, mostly to herself. <em>It’s over. Don’t start crying, not in front of…</em></p><p>She’s not going to cry. She passes through a million different thoughts in about a second, but crying doesn’t even occur to her. Partly it’s because, after all this time and no communication, she has wondered, much as she hasn’t wanted to admit it to herself until now. But also, the idea that it’s really finished changes her perspective somewhat. She’s been keeping quiet, keeping to herself, getting depressed because it’s Chloe who needs space, and Max is content to wait for her, or at least accepting of it. It doesn’t matter how <em>she </em>feels, as long as <em>Chloe’s </em>getting what she needs. Now, though, if Dana and Victoria are right – and of the four people in the room, they’re the experts – and whatever Max and Chloe once had is over…</p><p>It feels like freedom. Freedom to be happy again, if she can. Move on. Live for her own sake, focus on herself.</p><p>“You okay, Max?” says Kate.</p><p>“Yeah,” says Max, trying to sound like she means it.</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” says Dana, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “But, as your friends, we came up with a little plan to get you back out there and remind you what it’s like to have fun.”</p><p>Max turns to stare accusingly at Kate, who wilts instantly under her steely gaze.</p><p>“I’m sorry, it was their idea…”</p><p>“Oh, <em>no,” </em>Victoria cuts across her. “Don’t start blaming this on us, we’re in this together, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah, Kate, what the actual hell?” says Dana, throwing her palms out wide.</p><p>“Don’t talk to her like that!” Victoria turns on Dana.</p><p>“Tori, don’t –”</p><p> <em>“Will you please just tell me what your freaking plan is?!”</em></p><p>Max doesn’t exactly mean to yell, but the disagreement between the three girls in front of her is fast morphing into a full-blown heated argument, and she has to confess, it feels good to be using her voice properly again. Plus, it allows her to pretend she still has a little of the confidence she always had when Chloe was by her side.</p><p>Victoria and Dana glare at each other a moment longer. Kate’s now up on her knees and looks ready to dive over the remains of the takeout to get between the old queen and the new queen if they start getting nasty again. That girl may be small and mild-mannered on most occasions, but she doesn’t lack courage.</p><p>“Um…the plan? Please?” Max breaks the silence.</p><p>“Oh,” Dana remembers where she is and seems to think for a moment before launching into it, back to her usual bouncy self. “My cousin at OSU is throwing a party this weekend, and we’re invited. Well, technically I’m invited, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I bring a couple extra guests. A <em>college </em>party, Max. Not the small town high school shit we get here, this is the real deal.”</p><p>“I’m not much of a party person…”</p><p>“It’s college, Max. You’ll find other art nerds to make friends with if you don’t wanna dance or get drunk. Plus, my cousin’s house is awesome, and there’ll be cute boys. And hot college girls. Trust me, it’ll be great, and it’s just what you need. Even Kate’s coming.”</p><p>“As the designated driver,” Kate hastens to add.</p><p>“So, how about it?” Dana leans in with her hands on her knees. This close, at this angle, the neck of her t-shirt is loose enough to offer Max a hint of an extremely distracting view down her top. She isn't wearing a bra.</p><p>“I’ll think about it,” says Max, trying not to blush or stare.</p><p>In the past, only one person’s ever been able to tempt her into these kinds of adventures. That person no longer talks to her, but she’s fairly sure she’ll be adding about three more names to that list before the week is out.</p><p>And when Friday finally evening rolls around, it turns out she's right, for better or worse.</p><p>She just wishes she could tell which one yet.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another one?</p><p>I'm writing like crazy atm. Don't know if I'm more motivated or just inspired, but it's 5am where I am and I'm posting the third chapter in about a week. Screw it, I'm 26 years old as of today and if I want to stay up all night writing fanfiction, I'm gonna do that.</p><p>Hope you enjoyed. I liked writing Max, just as a little break from Chloe. We will get back to Miss Price before long, don't you worry. This chapter is also why I added Dana's name to the tags.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. No Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Hm, yes, just like that,” says Rachel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Max has never actually heard Rachel’s voice, but the Rachel Amber in her mind sounds a little like Victoria, though her voice is softer and sweeter as she paces back and forth in front of Max, snapping away with the expensive vintage camera in her hands.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just turn a little more to your right,” Rachel says. “Little more…and just turn your head maybe a teeny bit more…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The quiet click when Rachel presses the button is amplified by the surroundings, bouncing off the stark white walls of the Dark Room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure about this?” says Max.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Dude, of course we are!” Chloe says from her position, sprawled out across the leather couch, boots up on the armrest. “You make a hella hot model, Maximus.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And, if you’re ever going to be a great photographer, you should really understand what it’s like on the other side of the camera,” Rachel explains.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, that too,” Chloe mumbles.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But these clothes?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Max stops posing for Rachel to gesture with her hands towards her outfit, a flannel shirt over a low-cut sleeveless top, paired with artfully ripped black jeans, showing more of the skin of her legs than she’s really comfortable with.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s wrong with the clothes?” Rachel lowers the camera and tilts her head. “Is there something wrong with my clothes, Maxine?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Max turns to face Rachel, she notices the blonde is no longer wearing the outfit, almost identical to Max’s, she had on when they started the shoot. At some point, without anyone seeing her change, she’s switched to a pair of nondescript blue jeans and a simple pink t-shirt. A well-worn grey hoodie and battered old black and white Converse sneakers complete the look.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re wearing my clothes,” Max blurts out in her confusion. The camera’s sudden flash stings her eyes; it’s always worse when you’re not expecting it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, that is perfect!” Rachel coos. “So expressive!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If by expressive, you mean dumb,” Chloe smirks, teasing. “Come on, Rach, clearly our little hipster’s not getting it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She will,” says Rachel. “Patience is a virtue, honey.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Now you’re sounding like my mom,” says Chloe.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What am I not getting?” Max glances between the two in search of any hint as to what’s really going on here, but they’re already sharing knowing looks and smiles as Max looks on, utterly baffled. Rachel turns away from Chloe after another few seconds of extended eye contact and regards Max. Her gaze is at once warm and critical.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You just need to loosen up a little, Maxine,” she says.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“For what?” Max tries as hard as she can to keep her voice steady. “Will you please just tell me what’s going on here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sometimes, some models find it easier to get in the zone with something to handle. Like a prop, I guess. We’ll try that. Catch!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From nowhere, Rachel produces something soft and brown and tosses it underarm to Max, who scrambles to catch the object. It’s an old teddy bear. Her old teddy bear, to be exact; the Captain, her constant night-time companion since she was a six-year-old girl, now faded and showing his age, by the few stitched-up tears on his furry body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Both his black button eyes are missing. Max is sure they weren’t missing before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We’re gonna try something different,” says Rachel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Different than what?” Max tries to ask, though she knows it’s useless. Rachel and Chloe carry on like they’re not even hearing her, Chloe resuming her place on the couch while Rachel cleans a speck of dust off the lens.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What I’d like, Maxine,” Rachel goes on, “is for you to look like you’re seeing something totally new, something you’ve never seen before. You don’t know what’s going on or how to react. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Easily,” Max mumbles, with another glance down at the blind Captain.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just like that,” Rachel lifts the camera again and takes the shot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>CLICK.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Max is prepared for the flash, but this time around it’s brighter than before, much brighter. Too bright. White light fills the whole of the Dark Room, burning Max’s retinas and leaving her blind for several seconds. When her vision returns, she’s no longer in the bunker, and Rachel and Chloe are nowhere to be seen. With nobody around to talk to, she talks to herself instead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, crap.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The American Rust junkyard, by night, retains none of the artistic qualities Max sees there in daylight. Towering piles of scrap metal and burnt-out old cars cast great black shadows under the light of moon, and with so many dark corners, it’s hard to shake the feeling that something or someone might be watching. She can’t understand how Chloe could ever be comfortable spending time here. It’s spooky in the dark. When Max was eleven and Chloe was twelve, Chloe managed to persuade Max to sneak into Arcadia Bay’s annual Halloween haunted house, blatantly disregarding the rule that only those over eighteen were supposed to be admitted. What Max hadn’t accounted for, at the time, was that Chloe would chicken out and refuse to follow her. Needless to say, a nervous eleven-year-old girl didn’t fare too well in an adults-only haunted house. Several weeks of nightmares followed that evening, as well as an hour of furious, tearful recriminations against her best friend, once William learned of the situation and entered the house to find Max balled up and weeping quietly in a corner.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m not eleven now, Max thinks to herself. And at least she’s got the Captain for company, except when she looks, it’s not the Captain in her hand anymore. In his place, a large raven perches on Max’s right arm, regarding her with beady black eyes and a curious tilt to its head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shoo,” says Max, shaking her arm to dislodge it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw,” says the raven, refusing to budge.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Come on, shoo. Get out of here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Piss off!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shakes her arm as hard as she can. The raven only wobbles a little, digs in with its talons and caws again, over and over, until Max gives up. Clearly, she’s not getting rid of it that easily.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fine,” she rolls her eyes. “You can stay, if it means that much to you, but you better not screw me around. I’m busy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s a lie, and she’s pretty sure the raven can’t even understand her on account of it being a freaking bird, but she says it anyway. Just like in the Dark Room with Chloe and Rachel, she doesn’t have the first idea what she’s supposed to do, or why or even how she’s here in the middle of a dark, creepy scrap heap with only a huge, ugly raven for company.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw,” says the raven. It turns its head to the right, Max’s left, as if pointing with its sharp black beak. Suddenly, it makes sense.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That way, huh?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dutifully, she follows her companion’s directions as it leads her through the maze of broken old crap. Twice, she’s so preoccupied with not tripping on the uneven, trash-strewn ground or stepping on something gross like a needle or – ugh – a condom that she doesn’t notice the raven changing direction, only remembering to look when it reminds her with a loud, obnoxious croak.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she says. “Asshole bird.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The raven spreads its wings, cuffing Max sharply around the head, and takes flight. The sudden loss of its weight on her arm unbalances her for half a second. When she examines her now birdless arm, she notices the rips in her shirt and bloody puncture marks from the raven’s claws.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shit!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not the pain, or the realisation she’s bleeding, that makes her cry out. It’s the fact she’s lost her guide and, much as she didn’t care for the raven’s croaking or the haughty look in its eyes – how can a bird even look that smug? – she’s lost without it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, I didn’t mean it!” she shouts into the darkness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw,” says the raven. It hasn’t quite left her, after all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The big black bird perches at the top of a squat cinderblock building that sits like an oasis amidst the junk. That’s Chloe’s hideout, she remembers. Unless she’s very much mistaken, the raven wants her to go inside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Really?” she says. She doesn’t want to be reminded of Chloe, especially with how weird their last meeting was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fine.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With more than a little trepidation, Max makes her way to the open door of the building. The raven descends from its perch, coming to rest on her arm once more. It stares at her intently. She hates that look; her skin suddenly feels as cold as if she was naked, making her shiver.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From the outside, the building looked empty, dark and deserted. As soon as Max steps across the threshold, it’s flooded with light. Candles burn on the table. On an ancient couch in the middle of the hideout sits Chloe. She’s not alone. Rachel is sitting next to her, or more accurately, on top of her. Both girls’ eyes are closed, but their hands and mouths are very busy as they share a deep, graphic kiss. Max freezes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Caw,” says the raven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rachel tears her lips off Chloe’s and both turn on Max instantly, straightening their clothes as their eyes burn into her, full of anger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Max, what the hell?” Chloe yells. “Is this what you’re into now? Jesus fucking Christ!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fuck off, Max! Go play with your camera!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you wearing my clothes?” Rachel says, mouth slightly open in a look of outraged confusion. Max notices Rachel’s not wearing her clothes anymore, having swapped back to an outfit more or less identical to the one Max still has on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Chloe, Rachel, please,” Max pleads, “something seriously weird is going on. I don’t even know how I got here, th-there was this raven, and…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She raises her right arm to show them, but the raven’s not there. Its weight on her arm is replaced by something cool and hard in her hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s a gun.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Always take the shot, Max,” whispers a horribly familiar voice, so close it makes the little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up, so close he must be right behind her… </em>
</p><p>Max wakes in a cold sweat, head pounding, heart racing. Her mouth feels like she’s just eaten a bucket of sand and her stomach…</p><p><em>It’s just a dream</em>, she thinks desperately, <em>it was just a dream, I’m safe, I’m fine.</em></p><p>
  <em>Nope, not fine.</em>
</p><p>Tangled in her blankets, she thrashes around to free herself, kicking everything off the bed as she bolts upright and races to get the door open and get down the hall, round the corner to the bathroom, not caring about the noise she might be making, not caring how late it is or who she might disturb banging around with doors, running barefoot through the dorms at stupid o’clock in the morning.</p><p>She just about makes it to the bathroom in time, sinking to her knees on the hard tiles before hot bile forces its way up her throat to splatter against the clean white porcelain of the toilet bowl. She groans non-verbally, acid burning her mouth and nose as she vomits again.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, dog, this is bad…</em>
</p><p>It’s not the first nightmare she’s had. Not even the first this week, in fact. Normally they don’t make her physically sick, though; she just has to take some time to calm herself down and remember they’re just dreams, weird, unpleasant dreams that don’t mean anything except that her head’s a little more messed up these days than it has been at previous times in her life. But that…</p><p>
  <em>Chloe. Rachel. Dark Room. Jefferson.</em>
</p><p>Her stomach lurches. A fresh wave of sickness hits her and she throws her body forward to hang her head over the bowl again. If there’s one thing that could make this worse, it would be puking on the tiles and leaving a mess for someone else to find. She doesn’t want Samuel to have to come up here first thing and mop up her stomach’s discarded contents. Or Kate, who sometimes cleans the bathrooms purely out of the goodness of her heart. They shouldn’t have to deal with this.</p><p>
  <em>If Kate’s not already dealing with getting woken up by me and my stupid freaking brain.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, why is this happening?</em>
</p><p>Max has never put much stock in dreams. When she was a little girl, she dimly remembers her mom being really into dream-reading for a few months, just as an interest, but it never appealed to Max. Call her a cynic, a skeptic or whatever; she’s just not the kind of person who spends time wondering what her dreams mean. Half the time she forgets them before lunch, even the bad ones. This one, though, she knows is going to stay with her for a <em>long </em>time.</p><p>Maybe she should start just not sleeping again. She survived like that while Chloe was out, staying up all night, making do with short naps during the day when she was so tired, her mind so fried with worry and stress and sleeplessness that, for those two months, she swears she didn’t have a single dream. It wasn’t fun, but right now it would be preferable to more of this.</p><p>She opens her mouth again, just to see if there’s anything else in her stomach waiting to come up before she has to make the effort to get off the floor and clean herself up. The muscles of her abdomen cramp painfully, but she manages not to throw up. She’s done for now, thank God. Now onto the <em>really </em>unpleasant part, getting up and back to her room on legs that seem to have lost all their bones.</p><p>“Hello?” says a soft voice.</p><p><em>Oh, shit. </em>The door’s open; someone’s discovered her, or is about to.</p><p>“Max?”</p><p>“In here,” she says hoarsely. There’s no sense trying to hide in here.</p><p>The half-closed door of the stall creaks open and a tall shadow falls over Max, still curled up on the floor over the toilet. It’s Dana, wearing a t-shirt and underwear and a worried look. She doesn’t say anything immediately, maybe sensing that she doesn’t really need to. Instead, she reaches out and places her hands under Max’s arms, warm on her body through her sweat-soaked pyjama top. It’s only then that Max realises how sticky and clammy her own skin is. She must look like total shit.</p><p>
  <em>Dana’s touching me, and I look like shit.</em>
</p><p>“Okay, sweetie, think you can stand?” she whispers.</p><p>“Mm,” Max tries not to open her mouth and just kind of groans her response.</p><p>“Okay, I’m gonna help you up,” Dana says. “Just get your legs under you and I’ll try to do the rest. Is that okay?”</p><p>Max grunts again. If she wasn’t so cold, her face would be burning up at the thought of having to be helped to her feet like this.</p><p>“On three,” says Dana. “One, two, three…”</p><p>The lift is gentle; Max doesn’t weigh too much, and Dana’s strong enough to pick her up without much strain. Her legs are still unstable. Dana holds her to steady her. Within a couple of minutes, she manages to stand up unaided, just about, though her head’s terribly light and Dana’s looking at her like she might collapse at any moment. She lets go, but stays close by.</p><p>“Here,” she bends down to pick something up off the floor – a bottle of water, cold from her room’s mini-fridge – and unscrews the cap before handing it to Max, who takes a mouthful to wash the taste of her own stomach acid from her tongue. She swills the cold liquid around her mouth for a few seconds, spits it in the sink, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and tastes sweat on her lips. Dana watches the whole time, big dark eyes full of concern, chewing on her bottom lip fretfully until Max passes the water back.</p><p>“Th-thanks,” she says, wishing she wasn’t shivering quite so much.</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” Dana flashes her a brave attempt at a friendly smile. “You wanna get cleaned up? Take a shower?”</p><p>“It’s late…” says Max. She <em>does </em>really need a shower, though. Her shirt is sticking to her body and would be totally see-through if she hadn’t put on a black top to sleep tonight. At least that’s something to be thankful for, she guesses.</p><p>“I’ll wait up for you,” says Dana.</p><p><em>Waiting up </em>for Max not only involves making sure Max gets to the shower, but also includes lending her some of Dana’s toiletries, a clean towel and a t-shirt for when she’s done, even hanging around in the bathroom for her to finish cleaning herself up. Ordinarily, all this attention would reduce Max to a blushing, silent, self-conscious mess, but in the moment she’s just grateful not to be alone while she’s such a wreck. It doesn’t even bother her, or no more than usual, when she remembers midway through her shower that Dana’s waiting outside while she’s naked behind a thin plastic curtain. When she gets out, warm and smelling pretty great – must remember to find out what shower gel Dana uses, because it smells freaking lush – she’s handed a towel, and Dana turns her back until Max is suitably covered up. Once she’s dried and dressed in her borrowed t-shirt, also Dana’s, her Bigfoots shirt which is oversized on her and comfortably covers Max’s whole body to the middle of her thighs, it’s back to Dana’s room.</p><p>Max hovers awkwardly for a few seconds while Dana gets comfortable in bed. It’s not the first time they’ve cuddled like this; after returning from the party a couple of weeks ago, Dana invited herself into Max’s room to check how she was feeling, and they haven’t really parted company for long since then. The snuggling took Max a little by surprise the first time around, but Dana’s years of cheerleading, sports and drama have given her the confidence to be tactile without getting uncomfortable, and she managed to put Max at ease before long. Under the blankets, she backs up against the taller girl’s warm body eagerly. Dana’s height and curves make it a bit of a tight squeeze with both of them in the bed, but Max doesn’t mind too much. It’s nice to be held. They’re not <em>together, </em>they don’t have sex or anything; they <em>did</em> kiss, once, at Dana’s cousin’s party, but they haven’t made a habit of it.</p><p>“Sorry I woke you up,” Max whispers.</p><p>“You really didn’t,” says Dana. “I had swimming practice <em>and </em>soccer coaching at the middle school this evening. I crashed out at nine and woke up about an hour ago anyway, so it’s not really like I need more sleep tonight.”</p><p>Reassured, Max falls silent and shuts her eyes.</p><p>“You know, maybe you could see someone,” Dana says.</p><p>“For what?” Max says, even though she knows what Dana’s getting at.</p><p>“The nightmares, sweetie. I know this isn’t the first one, and I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you need to get some help.”</p><p>“You’re helping,” Max tries to shut this down, and fails.</p><p>“And I’m happy to help, but you know, we can’t just snuggle forever, much as I’d love to.”</p><p>There’s a note of gentle, affectionate teasing in Dana’s words, the kind that creeps in when they’re alone together in better circumstances.</p><p>“Dani, I appreciate the advice, but I don’t think I can stand another session with Mrs Ramsey,” Max holds back a weary shudder at the memory of the school counsellor’s aggressively beige office with its faded old couch, collection of sweat-stained stress balls and the vaguely unpleasant, indeterminate smell that seems to only haunt that one room.</p><p>“You don’t have to see her,” Dana says. “There’s a therapist in town who’s good. I had a few sessions with her last year, back when…well, you know, that <em>thing </em>that happened. I think she actually sees a few people from here.”</p><p>Max thinks about it for a while. She guesses it couldn’t hurt, and a part of her knows Dana’s right. If she doesn’t at least try to get some help, where’s her life going? More nightmares so vivid they make her puke, more depression, more dissociating and wondering if she’ll ever feel right again? Some days, her friendship with Dana is the only thing that keeps her going. She doesn’t talk to her parents anymore. Chloe still hasn’t sent so much as a text since they last spoke, and when Max catches a glimpse of blue hair and tattoos on her rare excursions into town, she normally tries to get as far away as possible. Kate helps, and Victoria tries to, but Max feels guilty cutting into the time they get to themselves.</p><p>“Just something to think about,” Dana says, wrapping her arms a little tighter around Max’s body, just under her chest, avoiding putting pressure on her stomach. She’s strong, but her touch is so gentle…</p><p><em>Chloe never held me like this, </em>Max thinks.</p><p>She takes a moment to catch her thoughts before they get away from her. She doesn’t want to think about Chloe now, considering what happened the last time Chloe invaded her brain, and it’s not fair to compare her to Dana when they’re such different people, and anyway, Dana’s not her girlfriend, so the situation’s totally different.</p><p>
  <em>Like the snuggling.</em>
</p><p>Okay, she has to admit, being held like this by Dana just feels <em>really</em> good. For one thing, Dana never seems distracted or like she’s thinking about anything other than what they’re doing right now. When Max would cuddle with Chloe there was always…not the expectation, exactly, but the implication that making out and sex <em>might </em>happen. That would always set Max’s anxiety off, and she’d always compensate by just throwing herself at Chloe, because the uncertainty was killing her and if they <em>might </em>get naked, it felt better to test the waters and see if it was going to happen or not before she could get more worked up about what <em>might </em>happen. With Dana, there’s no mystery, no possibility of anything more, and therefore nothing to worry about.</p><p>Except maybe falling asleep and having another nightmare, waking up sick and drenched in sweat <em>again, </em>only this time with Dana in the room to witness the whole thing.</p><p>
  <em>Chloe. Rachel. Dark Room. Jefferson.</em>
</p><p>In spite her earlier claims of being completely well-rested, Dana’s asleep within ten minutes of settling down together. Warm and safe in her arms, Max starts to think, clearly for once. She might not think much of dreams in general, and she might not <em>want </em>to think about the one she’s just had, but it’s clear enough that her mind’s trying to tell her something, and she thinks she knows what that is.</p><p><em>Tomorrow.</em> <em>I’ll do it tomorrow, </em>she tells herself.</p><p>Now, if she can just remember to <em>do it…</em></p><p>She’s asleep in Dana’s arms before she’s even finished figuring out what <em>it </em>really is.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had originally planned something very different for this chapter, but writing it was fun and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make things even more messed up and confusing for our poor girls. So with that in mind, here it is. If it makes no sense, hopefully it will soon.</p><p>Shout out to Rainboq for being a great sounding board.</p><p>As ever, thanks for reading. I have been Creap, I hope you've enjoyed, and I'll see you soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Just Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Okay, here goes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nothing to worry about. This is totally normal. Just a normal thing that normal people do.</em>
</p><p>So then why are Max’s hands shaking so much?</p><p>Thursday night, tonight, is movie night in Victoria’s room, a small, private affair, with its attendance normally restricted to Victoria, Kate and, on one occasion, Taylor. This evening will mark the first time Max has joined them. While chatting with Kate at lunch, Max revealed that she had no plans this evening and since she’d <em>finally </em>caught up with all the homework she’d been behind on pretty much since October, she was at a bit of a loose end. Kate, being the good friend she is, didn’t want to condemn Max to a lonely night and, once she’d gained Victoria’s blessing, invited her along for movie night. Max isn’t ungrateful; part of her knows this is an honour, considering how defensive Victoria is about her space and how much movie night means to both of them. It doesn’t hurt, either, that neither Victoria nor Kate is big on public displays of affection – in fact, Max can’t remember seeing the two even kiss when anyone else was around – so the potential to become an awkward, unwanted onlooker to a cosy Kate-and-Tori makeout session is not high. No, that’s not what’s got Max feeling torn, at this moment, between knocking on Victoria’s door and slinking back to her own room under some fabricated excuse about illness or unexpected family drama. It’s just that, while deciding between the three of them what movie to watch tonight, Kate let some new information slip; the weekly Chase-Marsh movie night will see double the usual attendance tonight, courtesy of Max and…oh, <em>God…</em></p><p>
  <em>Dana.</em>
</p><p>It’s not that Max doesn’t enjoy Dana’s company. Quite the opposite, in fact. The evenings they spend snuggled up together in Dana’s bed, or just hanging out and doing fun little things when neither girl has anything else on, are quite often the highlights of Max’s day. She’s started wondering, though, if she might be enjoying that time together a little too much. They’re just friends, nothing more, she keeps telling herself, and yet when she’s alone, certain stubborn thoughts start swimming to the surface and refusing to leave.</p><p>
  <em>Okay, fine, maybe I have a huge stupid crush on Dana Ward.</em>
</p><p>Even admitting it to herself gives her no peace. If anything, it’s even harder to cuddle as friends, or go out for milkshakes or do homework or just hang out and do nothing together – as friends – when you admit you’re having naughty thoughts about someone.</p><p>And with them both attending movie night, with Kate and Victoria who are already a couple, it feels like unnecessary extra pressure for Max not to do anything stupid and ruin the pretty sweet friendship they’ve built up over the past few months. Something tells her Dana won’t be shy about snuggling up on the couch tonight, either, which only adds to her trepidation.</p><p>
  <em>Just be normal. This is all very normal.</em>
</p><p><em>Normal. </em>She can handle that. Hopefully.</p><p>She shuts her eyes, just for a second, and once she’s grounded herself enough to stop her hand shaking quite as much, she knocks lightly on the door.</p><p>“Come in,” calls a voice from inside, too muffled through the wood to tell if it’s Victoria or Kate. With one more deep breath, Max does just that.</p><p>The scene she walks into is, immediately, not the most comfortable. Kate sits on the edge of the bed looking like she’s readying herself to spring into action. Victoria is standing a few feet away, watching with a look of worry and indignation as Dana tries to reposition the huge flatscreen TV on the table.</p><p>“If you damage it, you’re getting me a new one,” says Victoria, warning.</p><p>“I’m not gonna <em>damage </em>it, I just want a better view from the couch, okay?” Dana takes a step back and stands facing Victoria, hands out and open in a pacifying gesture.</p><p>“Well, be careful with it,” says Victoria, not at all pacified. “My parents bought me this TV for my birthday.”</p><p>“I’m sure they got it insured.”</p><p>“Be <em>careful, </em>you big giraffe!”</p><p>“I <em>am </em>being careful,” Dana ignores the insult, bends down and gets back to adjusting the position of the flatscreen. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a warm sweater, and the sight of her bending like that, hips wiggling slightly as she moves the TV wakes up the thoughts Max can never quite put to bed.</p><p>“Hi, Max!” Kate says, raising her voice a little more than necessary to draw the others’ attention away from their slowly-building argument. Not subtle, but it does the job. Dana decides she’s satisfied with the angle of the screen after all and releases it, much to Victoria’s relief.</p><p>“Welcome to movie night,” says Victoria with a small, tight smile.</p><p>“Hey, sweetie,” Dana beams at Max and bounces over to the couch, where she takes a seat. “Care to join me? I think the bed’s been claimed.”</p><p>Victoria looks like she might say something to that, but Kate reaches out for her hand and practically pulls her off her feet and onto the bed before any cutting remarks have a chance to form and sour the atmosphere.</p><p>Snacks are distributed and pillows and blankets arranged for maximum comfort; by the time they’re all set up, Victoria’s bed resembles more of a nest, while Max does her best to avoid staring at Dana’s chest as the taller girl unrolls a tartan blanket, brought over from her own room, and lays it out carefully across the couch to comfortably cover both of them. It’s not lost on Max that this is the same blanket Dana usually has on her bed, the one they’ve been spending a lot of time under together recently.</p><p><em>Yep, she’s definitely getting cuddly, </em>she thinks, wondering if having Kate and Victoria in the room might actually be a good thing, the added company acting as a deterrent to those <em>feelings </em>that stir when she’s alone with Dana.</p><p>“So, what are we watching? The suspense is killing me,” says Dana, overacting the last part in a way that makes Kate giggle and Victoria roll her eyes.</p><p>“Cabin In The Woods,” Victoria crosses to the desk and picks up the DVD.</p><p>Max fights back a sigh of relief. She’s seen the movie before, not long after arriving at Blackwell; she’d been wanting to check it out for a while back then and it came with Warren’s seal of approval, so they’d made a night of it along with Alyssa, Brooke and Justin in the TV lounge downstairs. It feels like a safe choice for tonight, too. She doesn’t know how she’d cope if, on top of sharing a blanket with Dana, she had to sit through something full of heavy sex scenes.</p><p><em>“Yes!” </em>Dana punches the air theatrically.</p><p>“We get it, you’ve got a huge lady-boner for horror movies,” Victoria quips.</p><p>
  <em>Do NOT think about Dana’s lady-boner, Max.</em>
</p><p>“Hey, we’ve all got our guilty pleasures,” Dana’s voice takes on a suggestive tone that immediately sets Max wondering what other <em>guilty pleasures </em>she might have. In other words, she’s making it worse. Max hastily starts rummaging through the bag of snacks to distract herself and make sure no-one can see her face as it starts to warm up.</p><p>The movie starts. The four of them settle in, Kate and Victoria getting cosy together against a stack of pillows, Max waiting for Dana to move closer and drape an arm over her shoulders, the way she usually does. Only, she doesn’t; her attention is firmly on the screen, occasionally distracted by the bag of chocolate coated pretzels in her lap. Max wonders if she should take the initiative if Dana’s not going to. In spite of all her stupid, confusing feelings about Dana, she <em>does </em>love being close with her, and moving in <em>would </em>give her a better a view of the screen. The last time she saw this movie was on the TV in the lounge downstairs, which can’t really compete with Victoria’s almost-new, top-of-the-range high-definition setup. Also, the snacks have somehow migrated to Dana’s side of the couch, so Max can’t reach them without going over there anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit, what if she’s just trying to watch the movie and I’m annoying her?</em>
</p><p>“Hey,” Dana whispers and raises her left arm, giving Max a space to crawl into and curl up. A warm smile flashes across her face for just a moment before she turns back to the screen.</p><p>Within a few minutes, Max is halfway in Dana’s lap, head resting on her side under her arm as the taller girl draws her long legs up onto the couch. It’s not the best way to view the movie as Max keeps having to lift her head and readjust herself to see over Dana’s knees, but Dana seems to sense that pretty quickly and does a little kind of wiggle with her hips to offer Max a better view.</p><p>
  <em>“Jules, I dare you to make out with…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please say Dana, please say Dana…”</em>
</p><p>“Hey Dana, you ever make out with Jules?” asks Victoria.</p><p>“With Juliet?” Dana turns from the screen.</p><p>“Yeah. Did you ever make out with her?”</p><p>“I don’t kiss and tell,” says Dana.</p><p>“That means yes,” Victoria smirks.</p><p>
  <em>So she does make out with girls sometimes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wonder if she’d make out with me…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop it, Max.</em>
</p><p>“Please, can we just watch the movie?” Kate tugs at the sleeve of Victoria’s t-shirt. “I’ve never seen this before.”</p><p>
  <em>Kate to the rescue.</em>
</p><p>This close to Dana, feeling the warmth of her body and the way her left arm wraps just tight enough around Max’s shoulders, Max starts to realise how tired she is after a long week of frantically catching up with her last few overdue assignments and daily, totally platonic friend-dates with Dana. Her head rests on Dana’s chest, and before long her eyes are starting to close of their own accord, her interest in actually watching the movie waning. When they arrive at the part where Chris Hemsworth looks ready to engage in some serious oral action with Anna Hutchison, Max just kind of gives up on watching altogether and moves onto her back, placing her head on Dana’s belly and letting herself drift. For a while, all she’s really aware of are the little excitable noises Dana makes in particularly gory moments. Despite her usual bright and sunny disposition, the girl’s a serious horror junkie. Some people might find that weird; Max, increasingly, finds it endearing.</p><p>As the film reaches a bit of a lull in the action before the crescendo, Dana suddenly nudges Max’s shoulder.</p><p>“Huh?” Max half opens her eyes, looking up into Dana’s grinning face.</p><p>Dana says nothing, but puts a finger to her lips and jerks her head in the direction of the bed, her face saying that she’s fighting the urge to giggle. Taking care not to put her hands anywhere awkward, Max gets herself up to take a look at whatever’s amusing Dana so much.</p><p>“Oh,” she whispers.</p><p>Kate and Victoria are still snuggled up together in their nest of blankets, no longer watching the movie, far more interested in each other. From the looks of it, they might have actually forgotten there was anyone else in the room; Victoria lies flat on her back while Kate straddles her, and both girls’ hands are making slow progress on pushing up each other’s shirts, revealing more skin than Max had really banked on seeing tonight. Her cheeks start burning pretty much instantly as she tears her eyes away from the scene in front of her, turning back to Dana’s smirking face.</p><p>“I’d say they should get a room,” Dana whispers, “but since they already did, maybe we should get one instead?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>The mischievous glint in Dana’s eyes doesn’t escape Max’s attention. Nor does it go unnoticed that Dana’s left hand, the one that <em>was </em>gently resting against Max’s upper arm, has now dropped to cradle her hip, or the way her amused smile at seeing Kate and Victoria lost in each other turns into something more, a look that manages to be coy and suggestive at once and, it should go without saying, completely gorgeous even in the room’s low light.</p><p>“M-maybe we should,” Max whispers, surprised at retaining the power of speech. For once in her life, she’s not doubting or second-guessing herself; Dana’s very clearly and openly suggesting they leave the others to their fun and have a little fun of their own, and it’s…</p><p><em>Exciting. </em>All the time Max has spent recently, feeling guilty when she has those thoughts about Dana, seems silly now. Dana’s been thinking, maybe not exactly the same things, but definitely along the same lines. Every little excuse she’s made over the past weeks to hang out more – <em>you’re working really hard, you should treat yourself! </em>or <em>I’ve already done the homework, I can help you out ­</em>– makes way more sense now than it did. Dana’s not just being friendly. If she’s totally honest with herself, Max <em>has </em>been getting increasingly suspicious of her motives, so this, just now, feels like confirmation.</p><p>“I was hoping you’d say that,” Dana grins. “Can I kiss you?”</p><p>
  <em> Yes. Fuck yes.</em>
</p><p>“Mm,” Max nods.</p><p>The difficulty of getting up and back to Dana’s room without disturbing Victoria and Kate can wait. For now, all that matters is getting this first kiss out of the way without making too much of a fool of herself. She’s thankful for the room’s low light; maybe Dana can’t see how deeply she’s blushing.</p><p>
  <em>She’s going for it.</em>
</p><p>Dana lowers her head, her lips starting to relax and reach out. <em>She’s got nice lips</em>, Max thinks, perfectly curved, very full and soft-looking, the exact kind of lips you can’t help thinking about kissing even when the opportunity isn’t right in front of you, descending, literally an inch away…</p><p>
  <em>“Shit!”</em>
</p><p>Max squirms away suddenly. She can’t do this, not now, not with her mind replacing Dana’s beautiful smiling face with the image of blue hair, tattoos and a cocky, lopsided grin. <em>Chloe.</em></p><p>Chloe, her first, her best friend, who she hasn’t spoken to in over a month, whose whereabouts and mental state are currently unknown. She could be going off the rails right now, could be stewing in depression in her room, alone, could be in the hospital, could even be…</p><p>“What’s up?” Dana pulls back, no longer smiling, though her arms are still open.</p><p>“I-I…” Max stutters. “Chloe.”</p><p>“Oh. Right,” Dana’s face falls.</p><p>“What’s going on?” says a third voice. Victoria. Apparently, Max made enough noise getting away from the kiss and off the couch to interrupt the others, who now sit at a slightly awkward distance on the bed, faces flushed, straightening clothes and trying to look as though they weren’t just furiously making out while two uninvolved parties sat about five feet away.</p><p>“Chloe,” Max repeats, feeling stupider by the second. “I-I…Chloe, I can’t…”</p><p>“Max, Chloe’s fine,” Kate interrupts gently.</p><p>“But what if she’s not? I haven’t even…”</p><p>“She <em>is,</em>” says Kate. “I saw her a couple days ago. She’s working at the record store in town, and she’s…well, I don’t know if she’s doing great, exactly, but she’s got a job and she seemed stable and kind of happy about it. It was nice catching up, actually.”</p><p>“Oh,” is all Max can say to that. “You never said.”</p><p>“But I’m now thinking that maybe I should have mentioned it,” Kate’s eyes flick between Max and Dana while Victoria just draws her knees up to her chest and looks mildly annoyed at the whole situation.</p><p>“I…”</p><p>
  <em>Chloe’s okay. Kate wouldn’t lie about that, or anything. No guilt.</em>
</p><p>Max is painfully aware she hasn’t actually looked at Dana since she first ran away from the kiss they were about to share. Judging by the look on Kate’s face, an amused little half-smile, she’s already figured it out, which probably means Victoria has too, but if Max looks at Dana, it’s like acknowledging this horribly uncomfortable situation she’s created.</p><p>“I need to call her,” Max says, and leaves the room rather than face them anymore.</p><p>Back in her own space, she takes a few minutes to sit on her bed and get her nerves under control. Talking on the phone always makes her anxious. Being the one to call makes it even worse, and being the one to call <em>Chloe, </em>who she’s not spoken to since that evening in the park, even with the knowledge that she’s probably more or less okay, requires some serious time to work up the courage before she pulls out her phone, holds it up to her ear and waits.</p><p><em>Don’t chicken out now, </em>she begs herself as the phone rings. Chloe’s taking her sweet time to pick up, unless she’s already seen the name on her screen and decided to let it go to voicemail.</p><p>
  <em>Please, Chloe, I’m sorry, just talk to me.</em>
</p><p><em>“Ugh…”</em> says a sleepy voice on the other end of the line. <em>“Hello?”</em></p><p>She’s there, she’s answering; Max starts rambling before she’s even figured out what she really wants to say.</p><p>“Chloe, I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t call you before, I just talked to Kate, she said you were doing fine but I guess I just really needed to talk to you myself so, you know, I just wanted to hear your voice so I could…”</p><p>
  <em>“Max? Is that you?”</em>
</p><p>“Y-yeah, it’s me.”</p><p><em>“Dude, what are you doing? It’s late,” </em>Chloe’s voice becomes tinged with annoyance.</p><p>“I just…I’m sorry.”</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve got work in the morning, Max.”</em>
</p><p>Max checks the digital clock on her nightstand. It’s just a few minutes past eleven, and Chloe doesn’t normally go to bed until after midnight. Does this mean, then, that Kate was right after all and Chloe Price really has turned a corner in her life, while she hasn’t been worrying about Max?</p><p>
  <em>Chloe’s doing better without you.</em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry, I know I must look like a total idiot, but I just…” she sighs. “I just wanted to talk to you again, Chloe. I’m sorry I woke you up.”</p><p><em>“It’s cool,” </em>says Chloe. <em>“It’s nice hearing your voice, Max.”</em></p><p>“You too,” Max almost sinks to her knees in relief.</p><p>
  <em>“Listen, I really need to get to sleep, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you again soon, if you wanna.”</em>
</p><p>“When are you free?”</p><p><em>Steady, </em>Max’s inner voice whispers. She doesn’t want to sound too eager, or get confused by meeting up with Chloe after everything that’s gone down between them, especially with Dana now looking likely to complicate matters even more.</p><p>
  <em>“Um, I guess Sunday would be good?”</em>
</p><p>“Sure, Sunday,” Max agrees quickly. Three days to work on what she really needs to say, and figure out the situation enough that she won’t look like a complete ass, if she can manage that.</p><p>
  <em>“Meet you at Blackwell?”</em>
</p><p>“Sure. Th-thanks, Chloe. Sorry again.”</p><p><em>“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” </em>says Chloe, and this time Max can hear the smile in her voice. <em>“I’ll text you later. It’s been cool talking.”</em></p><p>“Okay. Goodnight, Chloe.”</p><p>
  <em>“Night, Maximus.”</em>
</p><p><em>That could have gone worse, </em>Max thinks. Chloe’s fine and she seemed happy to be talking, even if Max’s timing wasn’t ideal. She’s almost proud of the way she handled it, once she stopped rambling and remembered to engage her brain. It’s a good feeling, too, knowing the way forward is pretty clear; they’ll meet up, talk, make sure there aren’t any hard feelings lingering and hopefully be able to have a good time as friends.</p><p>Unless Chloe wants to pick up with their relationship again.</p><p><em>Shit, Dana. </em>Max knows she’ll have to tell Chloe about that, if Kate didn’t already let slip how close they’ve gotten. When she heard Chloe talk about work, she actually got a little glow of pride in her chest to think her best friend was finally getting her life on track, moving on after all the insanity and doing pretty well for herself, especially after everything she’s been through. She wonders if learning that Max is now – <em>possibly – </em>seeing someone else might be a little harder for Chloe to accept and move on. Although, it <em>was </em>Chloe’s idea to put their relationship on hold, and who knows, maybe Chloe’s moved on herself? She’s definitely good-looking and confident enough to get dates. It’s not too insane to think she might have found somebody in the time since they last spoke.</p><p>That reminds her, she should probably talk to Dana too, but that suddenly doesn’t seem so hard considering she already worked up the courage to call Chloe. Picking up her phone again, she types out her message.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, sorry I went a bit crazy in Vics room. Can we talk please?</em>
</p><p>She hits send, and less than a minute later she receives her answer.</p><p>
  <em>Sure. I’m in my room. Come on in.</em>
</p><p>Still riding the high of a successful phone conversation, Max feels cautiously confident about the task ahead of her as she walks down the hall to Dana’s room. Only a little of her optimism remains when she opens the door and finds Dana sat on her couch, legs crossed under her, face unreadable. Not exactly the most welcoming posture.</p><p>“Hey,” Max says, wondering if she should go sit with her. Dana wouldn’t think twice about just setting herself down wherever looks most comfortable, or inviting Max to do the same, but things between them feel a little different when not even half an hour has passed since Max bailed on kissing her in favour of freaking out over her ex.</p><p>“Did you talk to Chloe?” says Dana.</p><p>“Yeah, I did,” Max sighs. “Look, I-I’m sorry about before.”</p><p>Dana gets up, crosses the room quickly on her long legs and gently presses a finger to Max’s lips. Her face, previously set in that uncharacteristic mask, breaks once again into her signature smile, warm and open and just a little flirtatious.</p><p>“Don’t be,” she says. “Max, I know how much she meant to you when you were together, and you’re still her friend, right? It’s only natural you’re still gonna have some feelings, sweetie. I…” she sighs, smiles, continues, “I like you, Max, and I think you know that now. But if you’ve still got stuff to work out, I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for, and I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”</p><p>Her voice is soft, but Max hangs on her every word until she’s done talking, and their meaning. <em>All is forgiven, don’t stress about a thing.</em> <em>Of course </em>she’s willing to step back if that’s what Max needs. <em>Of course </em>she takes responsibility for Max’s little meltdown on the couch, and <em>of course </em>the touch of her finger against Max’s lips – feather-light, her skin smelling of that fancy coconut oil lotion she uses – is enough contact that Max isn’t even thinking about asking her to step back, or telling her that maybe she did cross a line. This is what she wanted, this is just about as well as this possibly could have gone, and as she prepares for her next move, Max is as sure as she’s ever been that what she’s doing is right.</p><p>She brushes Dana’s hand aside, closes her eyes, gets up on her toes and cups her hands around the taller girl’s face to guide her in for a kiss.</p><p><em>“Mm!” </em>Dana tries to say something, muffled as their lips meet.</p><p>Max opens her eyes as they come apart to see Dana’s very pretty, bright pink face, her mouth hanging just slightly open for a second as she processes this new development.</p><p>“Oh,” she says after a moment. “Okay then.”</p><p>The play of emotions on her face, red-faced surprise passing briefly through breathless excitement before turning finally to happy, smiling acceptance, draws a short laugh from Max that quickly turns to giggles as Dana pulls her in for a hug. Max hurriedly turns her head to the side to avoid catching a faceful of Dana’s chest head-on; somehow, she doesn’t think they’re quite at that stage yet, after only two kisses.</p><p>“So…” says Dana.</p><p>“So…?” Max looks up from her spot in Dana’s arms.</p><p>“Bed?”</p><p>“Um…” Max suddenly finds herself hesitating where just a moment ago she felt like she had all the confidence in the world.</p><p>“Oh, no, I don’t mean…” Dana’s grip on Max loosens. “I just mean for sleep. And snuggling.”</p><p>“And maybe more kissing?” Max teases gently, stretching up on her toes again to properly look Dana in the eye.</p><p>“Definitely more kissing,” Dana smiles.</p><p>“Then lead the way.”</p><p>As they fall into bed grinning and giggling, it feels like, for the first time in a long time, Max has more to look forward to than she does dragging her down. If she could still alter time, right now, she wouldn’t change a thing.</p><p>It feels good to feel good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, isn't that nice?</p><p>I promise we're getting back to Chloe and the plot next chapter. I hadn't planned to carry on with Max for even this long, but then it all took a fun turn and I got stuck into writing awkward fuzzy Wardfield fluff.</p><p>As ever, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Crash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did you speak to Max yet?” asks Joyce over breakfast, just like she does every morning.</p><p>The question itself doesn’t bother Chloe that much. At first it <em>did </em>strike her as a bit personal, but if she sits back and examines it, it’s easy to see that Joyce is just trying to take an interest in her daughter’s life, and considering everything Chloe’s been through while Joyce remained mostly ignorant to her daughter’s personal business, that’s forgivable. What gets at her more is the way it’s repeated, every day when Chloe sits at the table, and quite often a couple more times during the day if they get a moment together. Joyce doesn’t think Chloe made the right call in letting Max go, and she doesn’t really understand the concept of taking a break in a relationship. For Chloe’s part, she doesn’t understand her mom’s concern, but she’s long past the point of trying to make Joyce stop pestering her about it. And besides, this morning her answer might actually be satisfactory, or at least provide a little variety.</p><p>“Yeah, I spoke to her last night,” she says. “She called me.”</p><p>“Oh, honey, that’s good news!” Joyce looks up from her coffee cup to smile across the table. “It is good news, isn’t it? What did you talk about?”</p><p>“Not much, I was basically asleep.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, I suppose at least you’re talking to each other again.”</p><p>“We’re gonna meet up Sunday,” Chloe says, hoping that’s enough to get Joyce off her back.</p><p>“That’s <em>wonderful!” </em>Joyce puts her cup down, beaming from ear to ear, her sudden exclamation of joy making Chloe cringe internally and Trooper perk up from his favourite sleeping spot on the couch. “Oh, let me know if you girls need space here. I’ll get David to take me out for lunch or something.”</p><p>Joyce and David go out for lunch pretty often on weekends, mainly because there’s only one really good place for lunch in town, where the combination of Joyce’s employee discount and David’s military discount means they eat practically for free on Sundays. Chloe has to admit, it’s not a bad deal. If she could do that, you bet she would, as much as possible. As it is, she mostly spends her weekends walking the dog and enjoying not having to work.</p><p>“I think we’re gonna meet up at the school,” Chloe says.</p><p>“Well, you just let me know, honey,” Joyce says, still smiling, going back to her coffee while Chloe starts on her plate of bacon, eggs and toast.</p><p>A wet black nose nudges her thigh under the table. Trooper’s up, and once he gets the scent of food, the little black and white mutt is relentless. Joyce doesn’t approve of feeding him at the table, but Chloe can’t help admiring his dedication to the pursuit of delicious treats, so once she’s sure her mom’s not looking, she transfers a small piece of bacon from her plate to her hand and palms it discreetly under the table, where it’s promptly gobbled up. By the time Chloe’s finished, he’s had five pieces, plus a chunk of toast, and is resting quite contently by her feet until Joyce gets up to take the plates over to the sink, at which point he follows her, hoping for more scraps.</p><p>“Damn dog,” Joyce mutters. “You’ve had your food, go away!”</p><p>“C’mere, boy!” Chloe calls. Trooper gives up on Joyce and trots happily over to sit by Chloe; he takes most of David’s commands as mere suggestions, and completely blanks Joyce almost all at the time, but he <em>never </em>ignores Chloe.</p><p>“Hey, mom, how come we never had a dog before?” Chloe asks.</p><p>“Your dad didn’t like them,” Joyce says over her shoulder.</p><p>“Wait, really?” Chloe almost laughs. “Dad liked <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>“Alright, I didn’t like them,” Joyce admits.</p><p>“So, how come you kept him?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t really get a choice in the matter,” she says, half-chuckling to herself, a little sadly. “David found him eating out of the trash at the school one night and just brought him home that morning. I was…with you at the time, so when I got home he’d already settled in and I didn’t have the heart to tell David to send him to a shelter. I suppose he was something to focus on at home, too, before you came back to us.”</p><p>She sniffs deeply, as though the memory’s still raw for her even though it feels like a lifetime ago now, and Chloe makes a mental note not to bring it up again. The door opens. Trooper barks.</p><p>“Morning, honey!” Joyce calls from the kitchen.</p><p>“Morning,” David says, voice tired from his usual night shift at Blackwell. He takes off his jacket and makes his way into the living room, where Trooper wanders over to greet him briefly before returning to his spot next to Chloe.</p><p>“Good morning, Chloe,” he says, a little stiffly, like every time he talks to her.</p><p>“Hey,” she nods.</p><p>Their relationship right now is a weird one. Since she’s been back, he’s tried not to treat her like total shit. At first, Chloe wondered how long that would last, but he seems to have held up pretty well so far. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever totally forgive him for being such an asshole for all those years, though she has to admit he’s mellowed out a lot in the past few months. When she brought home her first payslip from Bay Vinyl, he actually said he was proud of her, which left her speechless and caused Joyce to tear up and leave the room for several minutes before she could find her words. Sometimes, she thinks their relationship is about as good now as it’s ever going to be, and honestly, she can live with that. With him back to working nights, and Chloe working during the day, they don’t spend that much time together, which suits everyone well enough.</p><p>“Go sit down, honey, I’ll get you some breakfast,” Joyce says, busying herself at the stove once again.</p><p>“I saw Max last night,” David says to Chloe as he takes a seat at the table.</p><p>“Oh,” Chloe nods. “She look okay?”</p><p>“Fine, I think. I didn’t speak to her, but she’s looking well enough.”</p><p>“Well, thanks for telling me, I guess.”</p><p>There’s not much else to say, and it’s getting close to time for Chloe to leave for work, so she leaves it at that. She’ll see Max in a couple of days anyway, so there’ll be plenty of opportunity to judge for herself how her best friend’s doing. Her rucksack with her Bay Vinyl t-shirt and name badge sits by the front door; she picks it up as she leaves.</p><p>The truck won’t start. No matter how hard she tries, how much she begs it to just co-operate and get her to work, it refuses to play ball on the second, third, fourth and fifth attempts. By the time she turns the key in the ignition for the eighth time, with no more luck than her previous tries, she admits defeat and hops out to take a look under the hood. With the days warming up, it’s not too unpleasant being outside in just a t-shirt and jeans. Locating the source of the problem, thankfully, doesn’t take long.</p><p>“Fucking spark plug,” Chloe mutters.</p><p>If she had her tools in her truck, she could get it fixed right away, but in a moment of face-palming frustration, she remembers she lent them to Darryl at work on Monday, who’s yet to return them. He’d better fucking show up with them today, and he’d better not bitch when she’s late. Sighing, she slams the hood down before heading back inside.</p><p>David keeps most of his tools in his laundry room office. In what was, coming from him, a gesture of almost unfathomable generosity and trust, he now allows Chloe free reign to use anything she needs, as long as it gets returned to its rightful place. He’s still kind of uptight about keeping all his stuff in order, but Chloe guesses she can forgive that. Must be an army-man thing. The problem with the truck should be a relatively quick fix; if she can remember where David keeps his socket wrench set and get it sorted, she might actually get to the record store less than an hour after she’s meant to clock in. Humming to herself, she steps into the laundry room and begins her search until something else catches her attention.</p><p>A folder sits out on a countertop. <em>David’s not so uptight about putting his own stuff away, </em>Chloe thinks with a smirk. Even now he’s over his weird surveillance obsession and all the camera’s have been taken out of the house, she knows he still keeps files on all kinds of things – his newspaper collection, accounts of all the money coming in or going out of the house; he’s got a whole thing about keeping up to date with everything that goes on at home or in town. This folder doesn’t contain old vet bills or paper cuttings from six months ago, though. Chloe can’t see the contents from her, but she can see the title written in black marker on the front of the folder. It’s her name.</p><p><em>What the fuck’s he keeping on me? </em>she wonders. Report cards from the school she dropped out of three years ago? Has he been going through her room and picking up her payslips to keep them on file?</p><p>She has to open it. Everything he’s ever said about trust doesn’t seem to matter so much when he’s got folders with her name on just lying out in the open, where he must know she could see them. If he didn’t want this to happen, he should have put his shit away.</p><p><em>It could be something good, </em>she tells herself. <em>Don’t freak out just yet. Could be job vacancies, college stuff, fucking birthday present ideas, even.</em> Her twentieth passed last week without much celebration, but he and Joyce did get her a pretty sweet set of sketchbooks and a few CDs, so it’s not like they didn’t put any thought into it. <em>Don’t get mad until you know you’ve got a reason.</em></p><p>It’s nothing good.</p><p>The first thing she notices are the photos, all of her, all taken from a distance. <em>He’s been fucking following me. </em>Some of them are annotated; she doesn’t bother to read what he’s written and digs a little further to find printed sheets full of times and dates. Reading through them, it looks as though he’s been keeping tabs on when she leaves the house in the morning and gets back in the evening. A few times, he’s added when she arrived at work on a particular day, when – and where – she went for lunch, when she left. Sometimes she doesn’t come straight home and instead goes to hang out with Justin and Trevor when they’re not busy with school, or Frank, who still insists he’s not her fucking friend. That’s made it into David’s notes, too. A few of them even go way back, months ago, detailing her visits to the dorms with Max. He’s been doing this for a while. If she wasn’t so furious at being followed around town and photographed without her consent, she might even be impressed at how thorough he’s been at keeping tabs on her.</p><p><em>Fuck the spark plug, </em>she thinks, snatching up the folder and marching back into the living room.</p><p>“What the fuck is this?” she demands.</p><p>She throws the folder on the table, where David’s finishing breakfast while Joyce washes up in the kitchen.</p><p>“It’s a folder,” he says, not looking her in the eye.</p><p>“I can see that,” she says. “You wanna tell me what’s in it?”</p><p>Joyce leaves the kitchen and walks to the table, looking suspiciously between her daughter and the file.</p><p>“Chloe, please, can we keep the shouting to a minimum before lunchtime at least?” she says a little warily, noticing the anger on Chloe’s face.</p><p>“Look!” Chloe shoves the folder across the table at her, maybe a touch more aggressively than she meant to.</p><p>Joyce picks it up. Fair play to him, David doesn’t protest or try to stop her, just sits there in silence while his wife looks through all the evidence of the surveillance operation he’s been carrying out on her daughter. Judging by the crease that appears between her eyebrows, Joyce had no idea any of this was happening. When she puts it down after reading the last page, she sighs deeps and covers her mouth with her hand for a second before speaking.</p><p>“David, I don’t even know what to say to you,” she says, keeping her voice level with some effort.</p><p>“I can explain,” he says.</p><p>“I sincerely hope so,” says Joyce. “And I don’t think it’s me you need to explain yourself to.”</p><p>“Joyce, I…” he stutters. For the first time since Chloe’s known him, he looks guilty. “I-I was worried. You know Chloe’s had her problems before. All I wanted was to make sure she’s not slipping again. You can hardly blame me for being concerned, can you?”</p><p>“This wasn’t done out of concern, David,” Joyce shoots his appeal down quickly.</p><p>“She’s been…”</p><p>“<em>She’s </em>still in the room,” Chloe cuts him off. He turns on her.</p><p>“I know <em>you’ve </em>been meeting drug dealers,” he says, pulling out a photo. This one doesn’t feature Chloe directly, but Frank, outside Bay Vinyl. “How about you <em>explain </em>yourself?”</p><p>“I don’t know, maybe he wanted to buy something from the store? You know, the one where I work, where you’ve been following me every fucking day?”</p><p>“How about this?” he picks up another. Chloe meeting Frank a few blocks from the store.</p><p>“Okay, fine, I bought some weed,” Chloe admits. “Is that the worst thing you can think of?”</p><p>“So you admit you’re still using drugs?” he seizes the moment and gets to his feet, looking to Joyce to back him up.</p><p>“She’s an <em>adult, </em>David,” says Joyce patiently, although her tone is starting to become strained. “If Chloe wants to spend the money she earns on pot, that’s entirely her business. You’re not getting into debt or anything, are you, Chloe?”</p><p>“Of course I’m fucking not!”</p><p>“Or, I don’t know, selling drugs for that man out of the record store?”</p><p>
  <em>“Mom!”</em>
</p><p>“Just answer the question, please, Chloe.”</p><p>“No, I’m not selling fucking drugs for Frank out of my job!” Chloe catches her voice rising and stops herself. Joyce isn’t the one she’s angry at, not <em>really</em>. “He came in and bought some CDs, then I met him after work and bought some weed. That’s it.”</p><p>“Okay, I believe you,” Joyce nods.</p><p>“I don’t believe this!” David glares at both of them. “You really expect me to just trust her, knowing what she’s been up to before? Knowing where it got her the last time?”</p><p>Trooper gets up from his spot on the floor and starts to pace the room uneasily, whining and pawing at the carpet. Raised voices don’t sit well with that dog.</p><p><em>“Yes, </em>David, I expect you to trust Chloe to either behave sensibly or deal with her own mistakes,” says Joyce, unflinching as David’s temper continues to rise. “You know I’ve tried to be understanding with you, with both of you, and you know how happy it’s made me to see you getting along with each other for once, but this…David, if you’re going to keep behaving like this, I’m not sure I can see any way for us be a normal family. I suggest you think very carefully about that.”</p><p> With that, and a final look at both of them, she tosses the file back down on the table and returns to the dishes.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” David mutters after a long moment of uncomfortable silence.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck that, he’s not getting away that easy.</em>
</p><p><em>“Hey!” </em>Chloe calls out as he turns away, causing Trooper to let out a couple of nervous barks. “That’s it? You got nothing else to say?”</p><p>David freezes between the living room and the hall. Chloe advances on him, voice rising in volume, all thoughts of fixing her engine and getting to work <em>almost </em>on time disappearing in a flash of rage; nothing matters except letting Step-Fuck know <em>exactly </em>what she thinks of him.</p><p>“All that shit you used to give me about trust and fucking responsibility, and now I’m finally doing it, you’re still pulling this shit? God, I can’t believe I thought you’d changed, you haven’t fucking changed at all!”</p><p>He doesn’t try to move away, or defend himself, or even turn around to face her, which just stokes Chloe’s anger even more.</p><p>“Look at me!” she yells. “Be a fucking man!”</p><p>He whips around two feet from where she’s standing and hits her.</p><p>Now she thinks about it, Chloe can’t remember if he’s ever hit her before. Maybe it really never happened, or maybe that part of her memory’s still scrambled from taking a bullet and spending two months sleeping it off. She <em>does </em>remember how he used to raise his hand to her from time to time, and that used to be enough to make a skinny teenage girl flinch and go silent. Whatever the truth is, he hits her now; his open hand cracks into the side of her head, catching her off-balance and sending her stumbling backwards in the direction of the couch, where she promptly falls on her ass. Something hard meets the back of her head. Everything seems to swim in front of her eyes, she’s not sure which way’s up anymore, let alone where the danger is, but she can hear his footsteps approaching while she tries to find her feet. A vicious, furious growl splits the air, followed by a cry of pain.</p><p>
  <em>“STOP IT!” </em>
</p><p>When Chloe’s vision returns to normal, the scene she comes back to is chaos. David, standing over her, bleeding from his arm. Trooper snarling between them, muzzle spotted with red. Joyce, just out of the kitchen, holding something in her hand.</p><p>It’s a knife. A huge carving knife with a few soap bubbles still clinging to the blade, and she’s pointing it directly at her wounded husband.</p><p>“Get out of my house,” she says.</p><p>David just stares at her stupidly, like he’s in shock.</p><p><em>“Now!” </em>Joyce yells, taking a step towards him.</p><p>“Joyce, be reasonable…” he begins.</p><p>“I’ve been entirely too reasonable with you,” she says, shot through with venom. Her hand doesn’t even shake as she holds the knife. “Go pack a suitcase, I’ll have the rest of your crap sent on. You’ve got ten minutes, and then you are not setting foot in my house again.”</p><p>Those ten minutes turn out to be the longest ten minutes of Chloe’s life. She doesn’t try to get up, and instead just tries to focus on anything other than the sharp, throbbing pain in the back of her head. David senses defeat and disappears upstairs. Joyce stands her ground. Something warm and soft brushes up against Chloe; Trooper’s still with her, protecting her, ready to attack again if he has to. If she wasn’t doing her best to ignore everything going on around her, she could just cry and hug the little mutt in her gratitude. He’s chosen <em>her, </em>he’s turned his back and his teeth on the man who gave him a home in favour of the girl who slips him bacon scraps under the table and walks him around the neighbourhood in the dark when she can’t sleep. She looks at him, just to give some attention to something, takes in his pale eyes, the way his one black ear always flops down while his white ear sticks up, the streak of David’s blood across his jaws and the way he looks at her as if saying, <em>I’ve got your back.</em></p><p>David leaves. Joyce doesn’t move until she’s sure his car is out of the driveway. Then she sets her knife down and crouches down next to Chloe, hugging her tightly.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Chloe,” she whispers. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry…”</p><p>She’s crying. Chloe hasn’t seen her cry since that first morning back home after she somehow broke out of the hospital and woke up the graveyard, and before that, she’s pretty sure the last time she saw Joyce <em>actually </em>crying was Dad’s funeral.</p><p><em>“Awful, awful man,” </em>Joyce sobs into Chloe’s shoulder.</p><p>“It’s fine, mom,” Chloe forces herself to say, when she really wants to say something like <em>I fucking told you so. </em>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now, I…I really thought he’d changed, I thought we could be a real family now, but,” she pauses for a second, composing herself a little, “well, I-I’m sorry, Chloe.”</p><p>Trooper whines and noses his way in between them. Even now, he’s as greedy for affection as he is for table scraps, back to his sweet, innocent self, looking like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, except for the blood around his mouth.</p><p>“I-I think I need to go and…and lie down for a moment,” Joyce says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Will you be okay, honey? He didn’t…didn’t hurt you too badly?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Chloe reaches up to touch the sore spot on the back of her head. That just makes it hurt even worse, but her fingers come away dry. She’s not cut.</p><p>Joyce pulls away. Trooper curls up in Chloe’s lap and gives her face a few licks.</p><p>“Mom?” Chloe says as Joyce makes her way slowly to the stairs, hands shaking.</p><p>“Yes, honey?”</p><p>“Can we keep him?” Chloe wraps her arms around Trooper’s chest.</p><p>“I don’t think he’s leaving any time soon,” says Joyce, almost smiling. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s your dog now, Chloe.”</p><p>Chloe buries her face in Trooper’s neck and clings tight to him while he nuzzles her cheek playfully, blocking everything else out. Fuck work, fuck the pain in her head, fuck the fucking spark plugs and <em>especially </em>fuck David. Now that nobody else is watching, <em>now </em>she cries, and Trooper just sits and patiently waits for her to be done. He’s going nowhere, he’s made that perfectly clear already.</p><p>When she manages to stop crying, he looks into her eyes and licks her full in the face again, making her giggle. He’s <em>still </em>a friendly little bastard in spite of his recent burst of aggression. Chloe wonders if she should re-name him. <em>Trooper </em>seemed like a fine name once, but now every time she thinks it, it’s a fresh reminder of the man who made her life hell for years, stalked her for months and only left her alone when his only other option was to stay and get murdered<em>.</em> She thinks for a little while as the dog wriggles out of her grasp and goes back to pacing the room, tail wagging, sniffing at the ground in his eternal quest for something tasty.</p><p>“Billy,” she says hoarsely.</p><p><em>What the fuck was it? </em>She remembers, years ago, reading something Frank left lying around in his trailer about dog training. It’s all in the tone. As long as she says it right, and keeps it up so he starts associating it with what she wants, the little mutt will answer to just about anything. She gets up on her knees, clears her throat, looks right at him and puts on the brightest, friendliest voice she can.</p><p>“Billy!” she calls. His white ear pricks up, his black one just sort of twitching as he turns his shaggy head to look at her. “Billy! C’mere, Billy!”</p><p>He bounds happily over to her as though that was his name all along, jumping his front paws off the ground and resting them on her shoulders. Chloe hugs him again and ruffles the thick fur at the back of his neck.</p><p>“Good boy,” she whispers in his white ear. “Who’s a clever boy?”</p><p><em>Maybe life’s not gonna suck so much after all, </em>she thinks.</p><p>Joyce doesn’t return from <em>lying down for a moment </em>until almost ten o’clock, by which time Chloe’s managed to pick herself up off the ground and call into work, letting them know she’s not coming in today. Her excuse – car trouble – isn’t a total lie, and it means Darryl can’t bitch, since if he’d just returned her tools in a timely fashion, she’d be at work right now. No need to let him know all the details of her morning. She’s also worked up the strength in her legs to go to the bathroom and get some painkillers for her head, and coffee to wash them down. Billy dutifully follows her, still watching over her and occasionally nuzzling at her hand when he thinks there might be food nearby. When she tells him for the third time he’s not allowed chocolate chip cookies, he gives up and plops down by her feet with what she swears is a disappointed sigh while she sits on the couch to continue zoning out.</p><p>A man shows up two hours later to change the locks so David can’t get back in, on the promise of double his usual fee for coming so quickly and a week of half-price meals at the diner into the bargain. After he leaves, Joyce comes into the living room with a cup of coffee and sits down on the couch next to Chloe.</p><p>“I thought you had work?” says Chloe.</p><p>“I thought <em>you </em>had work,” says Joyce.</p><p>“I’m sick.”</p><p>“So am I,” Joyce sighs. “Sick in the head. Must have been.”</p><p>“Mom, don’t blame yourself,” Chloe reaches down to scratch Billy’s head.</p><p>“I thought he’d changed, Chloe. I really did.”</p><p>“So did I,” Chloe admits, hating herself for it.</p><p>For a long time, the only sounds in the room of the two women sipping their coffee and Billy’s occasional restless whines. Something inside Chloe screams to break the silence, but what would she even say? What can you say in this situation? However shitty Chloe feels, she can’t even imagine what her mother’s going through. She’s lost her husband, <em>again, </em>after giving him a second chance only to have it blow up in her face. When Chloe calls up the image of Joyce standing between them, knife in hand, it makes her shiver. In all her years of breaking curfew, skipping school, coming home wasted at midnight smelling of beer and weed and strangers, she’s never seen her get like that. Joyce has never been an angry person, and when she did get angry before, she always kept it quiet and controlled. Just last night, Chloe wouldn’t have believed anything in the world could push her mom to the point of cold, knife-wielding fury.</p><p>
  <em>He never hit me in front of her, though.</em>
</p><p>Joyce finds a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and lights one up, breaking her own rule of no smoking in the living room. Maybe when your whole life goes to shit in the space of one morning, rules don’t seem to matter as much. Chloe understands that much, at least.</p><p>“Chloe,” she says, “do you think you might be okay on your own for a few days?”</p><p>“How come?” Chloe steals a cigarette from Joyce’s pack, mainly for something to do with her hands but also because, if smoking in the house is cool now, no way is she going out in the yard to do it.</p><p>“I was thinking I might go away, just for a little while,” Joyce takes a long drag on her cigarette.</p><p>“Where to?”</p><p>“Aaron’s over in Salem right now. He’s working, but he said he wouldn’t mind if we came by. You remember Uncle Aaron, right?”</p><p>Chloe’s memories of her dad’s older brother are a little fuzzy. Mainly, she remembers the skateboard he gave her for her birthday, ten years ago, kicking off an obsession that only really ended when she discovered cars.</p><p> “Sure,” she nods.</p><p>“I just…” Joyce sighs, “I just don’t want to be around the house right now, Chloe. And I thought, since you’ve got your friend here for company,” she gestures towards Billy, who’s resting his head in Chloe’s lap while she rubs his black ear between her fingers absentmindedly, “you might be alright if I took a little break.”</p><p>“Sure,” Chloe nods again. “Take a few days. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came along too, honey,” Joyce says gently, finishing her cigarette and dropping the butt in her empty coffee cup, something that strikes Chloe as completely out of character.</p><p>“Actually, I’ve gotta stay,” Chloe says. “Still gotta see Max on Sunday.”</p><p>“Oh, of course,” Joyce lights up another cigarette with shaking hands. “Well, as long as you’re sure you’ll be fine on your own.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll be good.”</p><p>She doesn’t know if that’s true, but she can’t blame Joyce for wanting to get away. If she didn’t have plans requiring her to stick around, and if she had anywhere to go, Chloe would probably be packing her bags right now and heading off to get wasted far away from her problems. As it stands, she’ll probably be spending the weekend at home with Billy, but there are worse things than that. Plus, if Joyce is leaving, Chloe gets the house to herself, and it might make for a more comfortable spot to talk things over with Max than the school parking lot.</p><p><em>Bed’s right upstairs, too, </em>she thinks out of nowhere. She catches that thought and pushes it away before anything else like that can come up. Getting in bed with Max, even with the house to themselves, is definitely <em>not </em>part of the plan.</p><p>
  <em>Unless it just happens, you know?</em>
</p><p>Joyce retreats back upstairs after her second cigarette, and doesn’t return for a long time. Probably packing, or just sitting in her room wondering where the fuck everything when wrong. Chloe’s done her fair share of that in the past. She leaves her to it and heads for the safety of her own bedroom. If her life’s gonna go to shit again – or whatever it was she briefly had that looked like a normal life – and she can’t just get drunk to cope, she can at least rest her injuries and plan her next move.</p><p>
  <em>Buzz.</em>
</p><p>Her phone’s still in the pocket of her jeans. Lying flat on her back, she brings it out and holds it in the air a little way above her face.</p><p><em>At the bottom of your street. Come hang, </em>the message reads.</p><p>It’s from Justin. How the hell has it gotten so late? The last thing Chloe really remembers clearly was this morning, maybe a little before nine, so it’s a shock to say the least when she discovers it’s now past four in the afternoon.</p><p>
  <em>Time flies when you’re actively trying not to think about anything.</em>
</p><p><em>Fuck it, </em>she guesses she can go smoke with Justin. It’s not like anyone’s still around to give her shit for getting high, and Trooper – <em>no, Billy – </em>hasn’t been out of the house today, and if he’s her dog now, she’s gonna treat him right. On her way downstairs she grabs his leash and calls him over. He rears up on his back legs in excitement when he sees the leash in her hand, before struggling wilfully not to actually have to wear it. With a few gentle words to calm the mutt down, and quick hands, Chloe eventually manages to slip it over his head when he lets his guard down for a moment.</p><p>The park at the bottom of Cedar Avenue isn’t really a park in the same way as the park just out of town is. A small square patch of grass, half the fence around it is missing and has been since the late nineties, and no self-respecting neighbourhood kid has actually used the rusty old swing set for as long as Chloe can remember. Almost always deserted and just far enough out of the way that nobody on the street really takes notice, it’s a great place to get high. Justin’s waiting for her on one of the swings with a joint already lit. <em>Should’ve guessed he’d start without me, </em>Chloe smirks in spite of the fucked up day she’s had. She lets Billy off his leash to run free around the park and takes the swing next to Justin.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, accepting the joint when he offers it to her.</p><p>“Hey,” his voice is slow, his eyes tinted red; he probably lit one up the moment he got out of class. “What’s up? I dropped by Vinyl at lunch, they said you called in.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s been a shitty day,” Chloe says through a mouthful of smoke.</p><p>“One to ten?”</p><p>“Try fifteen.”</p><p>“Shit,” he takes his joint back and sticks it between his resin-coated lips. “You wanna share?”</p><p>“Found out my stepdad’s been stalking me for months, he hit me, I smashed my head on a table, then my mom threw him out of the house and changed the locks on him, after she almost stabbed him. Oh, plus she’s about to fuck off and leave me on my own for the weekend. Think that’s about it.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“Yep, total shit,” Chloe stretches out her legs to push off from the ground, rocking back and forth a bit on the swing. “Pass it over.”</p><p>Justin pulls another joint out of his pocket when the first one’s done with. The dude’s a total fucking burnout, but he’s impressively well prepared at times like this, when it really counts. Sometimes, all you can do in response to all the crap life throws at you is to get really high, and that’s what Chloe focuses on, swinging and smoking her way through the second joint with minimal conversation.</p><p>“Hey, it’s your birthday soon, right?” says Justin.</p><p>“Last week, but don’t worry about it too much,” Chloe says, kicking off hard to swing higher.</p><p>“Shit, knew I’d forgotten something,” Justin hangs his head for a second. “What’re you doin’ this weekend?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“You should come out tomorrow.”</p><p>Chloe straightens her legs to slow down her swing as something funny comes to her.</p><p>“I never came out in the first place,” she says. “I just kinda started bringing girls home one day and I guess my mom accepted that’s what was happening.”</p><p>Justin’s silent for a minute as Chloe slows and comes to a halt, waiting for him to get the joke until it becomes clear he’s not going to get it at all.</p><p>“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head to clear out the confusion. “I mean, you should come meet us tomorrow night. There’s this thing.”</p><p>“Ooh, a <em>thing?</em>” Chloe giggles, starting to feel the effect of two joints.</p><p>“Yeah, like a party. It’s out in the woods someplace at this old barn, off campus. Gonna be sick, and you haven’t come out in, like, months, so you’ve gotta come. Might even get break-up boy to get his ass out of bed for it.”</p><p>“Break-up boy?”</p><p>“Shit, I guess you didn’t hear,” Justin shakes his head sadly. “Yeah, Trev got his ass dumped over some stupid shit like his dad said something mean to Dana, or something, I don’t remember exactly. He’s been pretty bummed out.”</p><p>“Oh, shit.”</p><p>“I dunno, I kinda feel like he had it coming. I mean, if I was dating somebody as hot as Dana and somebody talked shit to her, even if it was my dad, I’d like to think I’d at least defend them a little, you know what I’m saying?”</p><p>“I guess so,” Chloe nods. “Still a hella shitty thing to happen.”</p><p>“Least I don’t have to listen to them banging every night now.”</p><p>Chloe bursts out laughing, loud enough to startle a flock of nearby pigeons into taking flight and drag Billy’s attention away from whatever he’s been engaged in. He runs over to investigate the source of the noise and barks, which only makes her laugh harder. <em>This </em>is what she needs, somehow, this is the thing to make her feel better, getting stoned off her ass in a shitty little park while Justin looks on in complete confusion at the scene unfolding before him.</p><p>“You good?” Justin says, touching her shoulder.</p><p>“Oh, fuck…” Chloe straightens up and wipes her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p>“’Cause, like, you’ve had a shitty day…”</p><p>“I’m <em>fine,</em> dude,” Chloe brushes his hand away. “I’m good.”</p><p>“Okay,” he nods.</p><p>“So, you gonna tell me about this <em>thing </em>tomorrow night?”</p><p>It’s <em>probably </em>not a good idea for Chloe to get wasted the day before she talks to Max. But she’s wasted already, and if she can’t have a little fun in the midst of all the shit, what’s her life coming to?</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that all certainly happened, didn't it?</p><p>I promise I'm actually going to write the party this time. I almost did the first time round, then I realised I had the opportunity to make things even messier for our girls when it all eventually did go off, and I couldn't pass that up.</p><p>Rainboq, this bite's for you.</p><p>Thanks for reading, everybody! Back soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Told ya,” Justin says. “It’s gonna be sick.”</p>
<p>Chloe doesn’t know how sick her night’s really going to be, but she has to admit, it feels good to be out again – really <em>out</em>, not just out of the house at work or running errands – even if their current destination, now in sight through the trees, looks sketchy as shit. Back in her younger days, when she first started partying in earnest, she was amazed by how many abandoned buildings were to be found in the countryside around Arcadia Bay. As she got older and learned that most of them once belonged to businesses driven away by the Prescotts’ ruthless stranglehold on local industry, the wonder died somewhat. She just <em>knows </em>there’s a whole treasure trove of dirty secrets in the history of this old patch of farmland. Tonight, though, it’s all about the party.</p>
<p>The music coming from the barn was audible from the bottom of the hill, a low, bassy throb in the still evening air. This close, it’s heavy enough to make her teeth rattle in her head, and they’re not even inside yet. Maybe Justin’s right after all, and this <em>is </em>going to be a serious night to remember. At the very least, she’s impressed that whoever’s behind this party managed to rig up such a crazy sound system in the middle of nowhere. That alone has to be at least partly worth the ninety-minute hike to get here, and the hassle of shutting Billy away in the laundry room for the night. She felt a little bad about that when she saw the betrayed look in his eyes, but she keeps telling herself it’s better this way. Left to his own devices in the house, he could happily trash the place if he felt like it. The worst he could do in the laundry room would be to piss on David’s old stuff, and that doesn’t really feel like such a bad thing, considering how David can now go fuck himself with a rusty socket wrench.</p>
<p>“Hey, keep up!” Trevor shouts from the top of the hill, while Chloe and Justin are only halfway up.</p>
<p>“What’s gotten into him?” Chloe asks, smirking.</p>
<p>“Man on a mission,” Justin says sagely. “And tonight, young Trevor’s mission is the rebound.”</p>
<p>“Well, best of luck to him,” Chloe nods.</p>
<p>“How about you?”</p>
<p>“What about me?”</p>
<p>“Well, you know, it’s a party. And we’re in the land of opportunity. You could probably get some too, if you wanted. That part of the plan for tonight?”</p>
<p>“Nah, I don’t think so,” Chloe shakes her head. No sense in hooking up the night before she tries to patch things up with Max. After almost two months apart, she’s not totally sure what the situation between them will be like when they meet again, but she definitely doesn’t feel like hooking up with some stranger and confusing her feelings even more. If there’s still a chance for them, she’s not about to throw that away now.</p>
<p>“You good?” says Justin.</p>
<p>“Yeah, man, I’m good,” Chloe tries to play off her brooding silence with a smile. “I’ll leave the girls for Trev.”</p>
<p>“If he doesn’t start crying over Dana again.”</p>
<p>“I heard that,” says Trevor as they catch up to him at the top of the hill, “and you can both suck my dick.”</p>
<p>“Tempting offer, but I’ll pass,” Chloe fires back. Trevor nods, taking her rejection in stride and turning to Justin, who shrugs.</p>
<p>“Buy me a drink, and we’ll see where the evening takes us,” Justin says.</p>
<p>That little exchange is enough to set the three of them laughing like morons. Well, that and the three huge joints they’ve already shared this evening – one in the parking lot at Blackwell before leaving, one while walking and one just a few minutes ago at the bottom of the hill, just to make sure they’re all high as fuck before heading into the barn.</p>
<p>Most of the party is actually outside the barn. Someone’s dragged a bunch of hay bales and plastic lawn chairs up here to form a kind of seating area. Half the seats are taken by smokers, drinkers, and couples in varying stages of making out. Chloe immediate wonders how many people she knows might be inside. If Justin and Trevor heard about this party, they’re probably not the only Blackwell students to make their way. A couple of the cars parked up at the side of the building look vaguely familiar, like she’s seen them before in the parking lot on her visits to Max’s room. The thought of running into someone she knows doesn’t sit well with her for some reason; her anxiety’s picking up before she’s even gotten as far as the doors.</p>
<p>“Hey!” says a voice at her shoulder. It’s Justin, bearing drinks and shouting over the music. “You sure you’re good?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m fine,” Chloe takes one of the beer bottles from his hand.</p>
<p>“Coming in?” he points towards the doors.</p>
<p>“I’ll meet you in there,” Chloe says. “Don’t wait up.”</p>
<p>That’s all they need to get gone, Trevor disappearing quickly in search of girls while Justin hangs back a bit, keeping an eye on Chloe for a few more seconds before following Trevor inside. On her own now, Chloe wrenches the top off her beer and takes a deep swig. It’s cheap, but cold and definitely welcome to her dry mouth. Before she’s had a chance to even realise how thirsty she is, she’s drained half the bottle and, feeling a little better for it, she starts scanning the area for a free seat. When she finds nothing to her liking, she takes herself instead to the far side of the barn, away from the crowd outside and the row of cars – probably also filled with couples enjoying each other’s company – and leans up against the outer wall with her drink and her thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ll just chill here for a few minutes.</em>
</p>
<p>The night air feels good on her skin, even if she’s a little cold in her low-cut top and patched denim vest. Weirdly, so does the rough wood of the barn against her back. It’s solid, and that’s enough to offer some comfort now, when so much feels so uncertain in her life. She’s still processing yesterday’s events, has been since Joyce left early this morning with a suitcase and a promise that she’d only be gone for the weekend, so Chloe wouldn’t have to be alone for too long. Right now, though, if she really thinks about it, <em>alone </em>might be the only way Chloe would feel totally comfortable. She agreed to come out tonight because Justin seemed determined this was what she needed and, for all that he’s stoned most of the time and kind of inconsistent about a lot of things, he’s always been a good friend to her, not counting the time back at Blackwell when he stole her emergency joint and never quite got around to paying her back properly. Hell, he even sat with her in the hospital when Max was too ill for the night shift, she remembers now. When he told her about the party last night, it seemed the least she could do was to humour him, tag along and make sure he didn’t have to spend the night alone if, against odds, Trevor finally managed to secure his rebound after Dana.</p>
<p>The music from inside makes the barn wall vibrate against Chloe’s body. The THC in her system, and the light buzz from having finished her first beer inside of five minutes, makes her wonder briefly if those vibrations could be put to better use. If she just turned around and kind of pressed herself flat against the wall, would it, eventually…</p>
<p>
  <em>Splinters.</em>
</p>
<p>She laughs to no-one in particular and pushes off from the wall as she makes her way out from her hiding spot. That little science experiment will have to go unexplored for tonight. Justin’s probably waiting for her and she’s spent long enough sitting on her own in the dark. Long enough to think her way through a little of her anxiety, anyway, and definitely long enough that as she approaches the doors into the barn, she’s actually started to think she might have a good time tonight after all. A few drinks to build up a solid buzz and she’ll be great.</p>
<p>When she pushes the doors open, she suddenly reconsiders.</p>
<p>The place is full of bodies moving in time to the music. This close, it feels like it’s going to blow her face off, and that’s before she’s even registered the blast of sweaty heat that hits her the second she steps inside. Something in the back of her head throbs painfully. She retreats back to the cool, dark side of the barn. Only there does she realise how badly her hands are shaking.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get it together, Price! Fuck!</em>
</p>
<p>Why is this happening? She’s never gotten this bad before. Anxiety’s always been a bitch for her, but until now it’s mostly come up around serious shit, one-to-one kind of encounters that she can’t skip or zone out. <em>It’s just a fucking party, </em>she tells herself. She tries taking a drink to calm her nerves and abandons it when she can’t hold the bottle steady for long enough to get it to her lips, and instead tosses the beer into the bushes in a moment of frustration. Then, she sits down on the slightly damp grass, drawing her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs.</p>
<p><em>I’m fine, </em>she tells herself. <em>I’m fine.</em></p>
<p>“I’m fine,” she says out loud, just to hear it from her own mouth as if that might make her believe it. Maybe she’ll just wait a little longer before heading in, see if the crowd thins as the night goes on. There’s still time to enjoy herself; the night’s still young, so why rush it? Out here, alone and unseen, she’s got the rare luxury of as much time as she needs. She should have expected this, really. It’s been months since she’s even been near a party. Nerves are only natural. Plus, she still has to see Max tomorrow. She’s resolved ahead of time to keep that encounter as calm and friendly as possible, making sure they’re on the same page before she even thinks about moving forward, but that doesn’t help calm her nerves.</p>
<p><em>I’m fine, </em>she repeats in her head.</p>
<p>It takes a while to get her feelings fully under control. She doesn’t try to push herself. Now’s not the time for that. She takes as long as she needs, and a couple of cigarettes; sweet nicotine, seeping through her bloodstream and sharpening her scattered mind. Twenty minutes later, with her hands more or less steady and the ache in her head reducing to a twinge that’s barely noticeable as long as she doesn’t think too much about it, she finds the courage to get up.</p>
<p>“Come on,” she says to herself. “Let’s party.”</p>
<p>She grabs another beer from a cooler near the door, hoping whoever it actually belongs to won’t mind – and if they do, it’s their own fault for leaving it unattended – and takes a sip for something to do. When she manages to do that without spilling down herself, she knows she’s good. <em>Time to go.</em></p>
<p>This time, when she pushes through the doors and comes to rest just outside the mass of dancing bodies, she smiles. She can handle this.</p>
<p>Halfway through her second beer, she starts looking for Justin. He’s nowhere to be seen, though she does briefly spy Trevor dancing with a red-haired girl in a black dress. <em>Good for him, </em>she thinks, grinning. At least someone’s in for a good time tonight. Justin, she guesses, will be outside somewhere getting even higher. The dance floor never really was his comfort zone. Chloe drinks and watches until she can’t just drink and watch anymore, and starts wondering if she should dance too. Then, as she walks around to the other side of the crowd to see if it’s a little less crazy there, something catches her eye. She stops in her tracks and tries not to actually rub her eyes, cartoon-style.</p>
<p>
  <em>Max?</em>
</p>
<p>It <em>is </em>Max. Even with the lights stinging her eyes and fucking up her perception of colours, Chloe knows what she’s looking at. She never thought she’d see the day. Max Caulfield dancing at a party, and is she wearing <em>shorts? Damn, she’s got nice legs, </em>Chloe thinks, remembering the time when she was probably the only person who knew that. The sight stirs up all kinds of new, weird feelings in her. Max is looking <em>good, </em>and happy, like being here doesn’t even make her horribly uncomfortable. Plus, those shorts, just covering her butt while leaving her slender legs free, are just hella sexy on her. Even from afar, they’re doing things for Chloe. Should she go over, dance with Max, try and lead her outside and get their whole big talk out of the way ahead of time?</p>
<p>
  <em>Nah, fuck it. Let her have fun.</em>
</p>
<p>Another girl appears from nowhere, making a beeline for Max. Chloe suddenly feels a rush of defensiveness. <em>That’s my Max, </em>a little angry voice in her head growls.</p>
<p>The growl turns to a full-blown roar of rage when she casts an eye over the girl approaching Max. She’s very pretty, with thick, shiny black hair falling down the back of her red-and-grey checked shirt and glasses over sparking hazel eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Rachel fucking Amber.</em>
</p>
<p>For Chloe, even being here is way out of line for Rachel. When they last saw each other, she said she was going to stay out of Chloe’s life from now on. Showing up here, where she <em>must </em>have known Chloe might be, seems like a pretty big violation of that agreement. Moving on Max like this is just the devious cherry on top of the lying, cheating cake. Forgetting everything about leaving Max alone and not getting involved with her business until tomorrow, Chloe drops her beer to the floor with a loud clatter and storms over to where they’re dancing. Rachel’s already getting way too close for Chloe’s liking; she’ll be dry-humping Max before the song’s even over unless Chloe pulls her off and lets her know <em>exactly </em>what’s on her mind.</p>
<p>She grabs Rachel’s arm and guides her, as gently as she can with every impulse screaming to just drag the girl off, a few feet away. Rachel pulls hard out of her grasp, looking like she might shove her back until she gets a look at her. The music’s too loud to hear much, but Chloe can read her lips well enough to make out the words.</p>
<p>“Chloe?” she says, realisation dawning on her beautiful face.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chloe yells, partly out of anger, partly just to be heard. Max catches up with them and takes hold of Chloe’s arm, just as Chloe did to Rachel.</p>
<p>“Chloe, what the fuck?” Max shouts.</p>
<p>“Max, this is Rachel!” Chloe shouts back.</p>
<p>“What?” Max looks between the two.</p>
<p>
  <em>“She’s Rachel, Max!”</em>
</p>
<p>“Well done, you’ve established who I am,” Rachel snipes.</p>
<p>A fourth girl comes into sight, taller than Chloe, looking gorgeous and sexy at the same time in a tight t-shirt and cut-off shorts over long, well-muscled legs. The newcomer steps in close to Max and takes her hand as though she hasn’t even noticed the three-woman shouting match currently building in front of her. <em>Dana fucking Ward.</em> From the way she grabs at Max, it’s clear from the second she arrives they’re not here as friends. Something dark and heavy settles on Chloe’s heart.</p>
<p><em>“Chloe?” </em>Dana says, finally taking in what’s going on.</p>
<p>Chloe doesn’t bother acknowledging Dana, or how it makes her feel seeing her with Max. She just takes Rachel’s arm again and leads her in the direction of a side door, not caring what this must look like. For her part, Rachel doesn’t try to pull away, but follows behind Chloe, face showing anger and frustration mingled with something harder to place.</p>
<p><em>Excitement, </em>the angry part of Chloe’s mind hisses. <em>She always loved drama.</em></p>
<p>The cool quiet of the night outside is a stark contrast from the barn. For a few seconds, Chloe’s skin feels like it’s freezing before she adjusts to the change in temperature and turns to face Rachel.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing?” Chloe says, not caring that she’s repeating herself.</p>
<p>“Having some fun,” says Rachel, crossing her arms over her chest. “What the fuck is it to you, Chloe? You made it pretty clear we were through last time.”</p>
<p>“And I thought <em>you </em>made it pretty clear you were gonna stay away,” says Chloe.</p>
<p>“So now I’m not allowed to go out?”</p>
<p>“Not <em>here!” </em>Chloe growls. “I thought you were gonna fuck off back to Montana or wherever so we didn’t have to see each other again. What happened to that, huh?”</p>
<p>“You thought wrong,” Rachel says smoothly.</p>
<p>A burst of bitter laughter escapes Chloe’s lips, echoing slightly in the dark.</p>
<p>“That’s just…” she begins, but gets interrupted before she can even think of a word bad enough to describe it. Max comes rushing out of the barn with Dana close behind.</p>
<p>“Chloe, what the fuck was that?” says Max, voice full of hurt and confusion.</p>
<p>“Yeah, what the hell are you doing?” says Dana.</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking start,” Chloe snaps. Dana steps down, but Max is right back on the attack.</p>
<p>“This break was your idea, remember?” she says furiously. “Do I need to get your permission to go out with someone now?”</p>
<p>“That’s not…” Chloe tries to explain.</p>
<p>“Chloe, it’s not…” Max shoots her down but falters quickly, setting off a spasm of guilt in Chloe’s stomach. “We’re…” she glances at Dana, “we’re not <em>serious, </em>it’s not like…”</p>
<p>“Oh, thanks, Max,” Dana says, frowning.</p>
<p>“Dana, you <em>know </em>we’re not…”</p>
<p>“That’s not what this is, Max!” Chloe jumps in before another argument can start. “Max, this is Rachel, she’s…I don’t fucking know what she’s doing, but I don’t wanna lose you, not to fucking <em>Rachel!”</em></p>
<p>Max doesn’t have anything to say to that. Nor does Rachel. Silence descends over the four of them, broken only by the low hum of the music from inside and the occasional laughter of the people at the front of the barn, barely audible from here. Then, Dana finds her voice.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” she says, turning to the black-haired girl still glowering at Chloe. “You…you’re Rachel?”</p>
<p>Rachel nods.</p>
<p>“As in, Rachel <em>Amber?</em> From Blackwell?”</p>
<p>“Hey, Dana,” says Rachel. “Long time no see.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dana’s face creases slightly as she takes it in.</p>
<p>“So what?” Max gets back into it, rounding on Chloe again. “What’s gonna happen that’s so terrible you’ve gotta come save me? I don’t need to be saved, Chloe!”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, this is just too weird,” Dana says<em>.</em> “I think…Max, I’ll see you later, I-I need to…”</p>
<p>“Yeah, walk away,” says Chloe. She doesn’t <em>mean </em>to get mad at Dana, it’s just that her blood’s up from yelling at Rachel and her anger latches onto the most convenient target before she catches it.</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking talk to her like that!” Max yells.</p>
<p>“Hey!” a new voice says, lighter and softer but full of determination.</p>
<p><em>Oh, fucking great, </em>Chloe thinks. <em>Is there anyone I know who isn’t here?</em></p>
<p>Kate Marsh is heading in their direction, looking out of place and out of character in faded jeans and a red-and-white striped top. Her dirty-blonde hair is braided and she’s actually wearing makeup. In any other circumstances, she might look cute, but here and now all Chloe can think is how little she needs anybody else getting involved, least of all Kate with her need for everyone to get along when <em>getting along </em>is the last thing on anyone’s mind.</p>
<p>And behind her, dressed in her trademark high fashion, just adding to the unpleasantness, is Victoria. She’s scowling. Chloe guesses they were making out in one of the cars before Kate heard her friends’ raised voices and just couldn’t resist getting involved.</p>
<p>They stop a little way from the rest of the group. Kate takes a deep breath, composing herself before she starts defusing the situation. Victoria steps in front of her before she can start, daggers in her eyes as she stares at one person.</p>
<p>“Rachel?” she says, looking if anything angrier than before.</p>
<p>“Hey, Vicky,” says Rachel. If she feels anything at being identified through her disguise, she doesn’t show it. Victoria’s lip curls. <em>She always hated that nickname, </em>Chloe remembers. “How’s life?”</p>
<p>“Like, now, or five seconds ago before I knew you were here?” Victoria says waspishly. <em>After everything, they’re really still gonna do this?</em></p>
<p>“Tori, be nice,” says Kate, sidling up next to Victoria and taking her hand. Rachel laughs.</p>
<p>“Ooh, that’s interesting,” she says, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “She your type now, Vicky?”</p>
<p><em>Shit, this is getting nasty. </em>Chloe glances at Max, then Dana, who are both sporting worried looks similar to the one Chloe knows must be on her own face. Kate’s hand tightens around Victoria’s as Rachel’s hazel eyes scan the couple, alighting on Kate’s cross necklace, shining in the dark.</p>
<p>“She <em>is!” </em>Rachel says, either ignoring or enjoying the fury and hostility radiating from every inch of Victoria’s body. “Did you get tired of the bad girls, Vicky? Or did you just have to settle for the little church mouse who’s too dumb to even know what kind of a person you really are?”</p>
<p>Victoria wrenches her hand away from Kate’s and, before anyone can move to stop her, she’s already crossed the remaining few feet of ground between her and Rachel. For just a second, Chloe sees something flash across the black-haired girl’s face. She knows exactly what that look means. Rachel Amber has finally realised when she's gone too far.</p>
<p>Then, Victoria balls her right hand up into a fist and cracks Rachel square in the mouth.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s like viewing the world in slow motion. Victoria stands two inches from Rachel, eyes full of loathing, right hand back, ready to strike again. Rachel spits blood on the grass and straightens up, making Victoria miss and returning the favour with a hard slap across the face. Max, Dana and Kate rush in. Chloe feels something like a jolt of energy in her chest. That’s the sudden realisation that, if she doesn’t get in there to intervene too, the only way this is going to end is when Rachel or Victoria can’t fight anymore. Chloe’s money would be on Rachel breaking first.</p>
<p>“Chloe, help!” Max shouts, voice strained as she tries to hold Rachel back.</p>
<p>Kate’s arms are wrapped around Victoria’s waist, her heels digging into the ground as she struggles to control her girlfriend. Neither Max nor Kate is having much success in keeping them apart. Dana moves in to assist Kate, using her long arms to maintain some distance between Victoria and the girl she’s trying to kill.</p>
<p>Rachel’s still coming. Max isn’t strong enough to hold her for much longer, not when she gets like this. Rachel’s rages used to scare Chloe worse than death, worse than David, worse than anything. Chloe lowers her head and almost tackles Rachel around the waist in her rush to keep Max from getting overpowered and probably badly hurt.</p>
<p>Behind them, Victoria continues struggling against Kate and Dana’s combined grasp. Chloe sees Max lose her footing and fall in a heap, feels Rachel pulling away, tries to put her body between them again.</p>
<p>A stray punch catches Chloe just behind her left ear. She doesn’t see who throws it. All she sees is Max still curled up on the grass as she trips over her, and then the ground coming up fast towards her face, and after that, nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, shit.</p>
<p>Thanks for reading. Back soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. For Max</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes it’s hard being the grownup in the room.</p><p>No, maybe that’s wrong to say, because as long as she’s been doing it Dana’s <em>never </em>found it hard to be the mature one before. Maybe it comes with having three younger sisters and a bunch of little cousins, but she’s always found it easy, natural even, when people would come to her for support, comfort, a little stability or whatever else they need. Even in the deepest depths of her own struggles and personal-life bullshit, she’s always found it in herself to give her friends a hug and a shoulder to cry on.</p><p>In <em>this </em>room, at <em>this </em>time, her maturity and composure are being tested to their limits as she takes yet another deep breath to avoid screaming at the hatchet-faced nurse at the desk, who’s somehow managing to stare down her nose at Dana despite being seated and almost a foot shorter.</p><p>“All I’m asking,” Dana says, keeping her tone level with some effort, “is when you’re going to be able to tell us what’s going on with our friend. It’s a simple request.”</p><p>“And all <em>I’m </em>asking is that you either take a seat or leave until you’ve calmed down,” says the grey-haired woman. “I think that’s also a <em>very </em>simple request, miss.”</p><p>If she thought they might be of any help, Dana might try turning to her companions to back her up here. But she knows there’s little chance of any of them coming to her aid in their current states, so she turns her face away so the nurse won’t see her rolling her eyes and resumes pacing the waiting room, just like she’s been doing for the past forty-five minutes.</p><p>“Dana, come sit down,” says Kate softly.</p><p>Dana sighs. Sitting down is the furthest thing from her mind right now; in times of stress, she always feels the need to get up, move around, act like she’s doing something even when she really can’t do anything. It’s the illusion of a purpose that gets her through. But, on the other hand, it won’t really get her anywhere here except in more trouble with the very unhelpful nurse at the desk, and Kate seems to think it’s important enough to take a break from whispering comfort in Victoria’s ear, so Dana gives up on the idea of walking a marathon around this dusty old room and takes her seat between Victoria and Max.</p><p>
  <em>God, she’s still shaking.</em>
</p><p>Almost the minute they got to the hospital, Kate took off her cardigan and draped it over Max’s shoulders to keep her warm while they waited. It quickly became clear that wasn’t going to help in the slightest. She’s been shivering since the barn, since Chloe hit the ground and wouldn’t get up. The sight of Max kneeling by Chloe’s unconscious form, screaming in her ears, waving her hand frantically in front of her face, trying to get her to give any kind of sign she wasn’t totally gone, will stay with Dana for some time. A small, selfish part of her wondered if Max would have the same reaction if <em>she’d </em>been the one on the ground.</p><p>In her t-shirt and shorts, Dana’s shivering a little too. The first-floor waiting room manages to be stuffy and near-freezing at the same time. She’s regretting her revealing outfit, but, in her defence, this is <em>not </em>what she dressed for earlier this evening. She barely even had plans at all, except for a few drinks, some dancing and maybe, if the night went well and it felt right in the moment, <em>possibly </em>sealing the deal with Max later on. When she thinks about that now – how she’d pictured her night versus how it’s actually going – she feels a curious mixture of guilt, dread and sadness, shot through with irony and a dash of stupidity when she remembers how <em>she</em> was the one who insisted nothing was going to go wrong, that they’d all just have a fun, normal night and everything would be great.</p><p>As it is, she’s sat on an uncomfortable green chair in booty shorts, getting glared at by a nurse, between two girls acting like they’ve just witnessed a particularly brutal murder or been forced to sit through <em>Inbred</em>.</p><p>Victoria’s crying. At least, it looks like she’s crying. Dana can’t tell for sure because her face is buried in Kate’s shoulder, out of sight of anyone else. Every now and then she’ll move a few inches, turn her head to whisper something in Kate’s ear or shift a bit when her neck starts to get sore from being in the same position too long. Dana wonders how Kate’s bearing up. That little mouse is <em>strong, </em>but having her girlfriend sobbing into her like this must have some effect, and that’s not even getting into what came before; everyone piling into her little car, Kate having to override every law-abiding and self-preserving instinct to run red lights and speed down narrow back roads to get Chloe to the hospital as quick as possible.</p><p>Max, by contrast, is totally silent and still except for occasional shivers. Dana’s insides twist when she looks at her. She can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now, and Max isn’t about to let them know. She hasn’t said a single word since getting here. More than anything, Dana wants to throw her arms around Max and hold her till the shaking subsides, but she knows that won’t do any good. That feeling, watching Max suffer and being powerless to stop it, sticks in her throat, so in the interest of not breaking down and remaining the grownup in the room, she avoids looking at Max for too long at a time.</p><p>Rachel sits a few seats away from the rest of the group. She didn’t pile into Kate’s car with the rest of them, instead opting to follow behind in her own vehicle. Her face is unreadable, though her body language says she’d rather be anywhere but here, which is honestly not too different to what Dana’s feeling. After spending most of a year thinking Rachel was either dead or gone from Arcadia Bay for good, even just seeing her would have been a pretty surreal experience for Dana. Everything else – how Chloe clearly knew so much more than everyone else, the dyed hair and glasses making her look like a completely different person, the way Rachel’s presence turned out to be the very thing that knocked their fun night totally off course – is more than she can deal with right now, especially with the added pressure of being the only one able to speak, so she’s long since decided not to even think about any of that now.</p><p>The old clock on the wall opposite says it’s now well over an hour since they arrived here, since Dana carried a worryingly limp and totally unresponsive Chloe through the doors to be rushed away by a couple of uniformed nurses. Being in the same place for so long doesn’t suit her. She’s hungry, starting to tire from the adrenaline crash, the coarse fabric of the chair is making the backs of her thighs itch and she kind of needs to pee, but she can’t leave her friends. Most of all, she can’t leave Max; What if she suddenly breaks her silence and decides she needs some comfort, while Kate’s busy with Victoria and Rachel’s keeping her sullen distance?</p><p>
  <em>Why the hell aren’t they telling us anything?</em>
</p><p>Dana hasn’t spent much time in hospitals. She’s pretty healthy, in general. She rarely gets sick and when she picks up minor bruises and strains from her active lifestyle, she can normally take care of them herself. Not counting last year’s visit to the family planning clinic – <em>don’t start thinking about that now – </em>she can only remember being in a hospital twice in the past eighteen years, both times visiting her grandma close to the end of her life. Their inner workings are mostly a mystery to her.</p><p>But after almost ninety minutes with no updates on Chloe’s condition, even Dana’s starting to suspect that not all is well.</p><p>“Hey,” says Kate, her voice gentle. “How’re you holding up?”</p><p>“Just fucking great,” Dana whispers, careful not to let Max hear the worry and frustration in her words. Kate reaches out and squeezes her hand for a second.</p><p>“Me too,” Kate says.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry I dragged you all out tonight.”</p><p>That admission wrenches something deep inside Dana. Going out tonight, specifically going to <em>that </em>party, was her idea. Max, Kate and Victoria would all have been happy staying at the dorms, getting takeout from someplace and just chilling. Dana was the one who wanted to have some <em>fun, </em>mainly out of her stupid, selfish desire to move things forward with Max only two days after their first sober kiss. She convinced the others to accompany them, just to make it a bit less obvious that was her plan. Hearing herself apologise for it, by extension owning at least part of the blame for their current situation, it takes every bit of self-control she has left not to start crying.</p><p>“If we hadn’t been there, it might have been worse,” says Kate, giving her hand another friendly squeeze. Dana wishes that made her feel any better.</p><p>“Where’s Victoria?” she asks. At some point, without her noticing, the tall blonde has vanished from the waiting room.</p><p>“Bathroom,” Kate says a little stiffly.</p><p>“You should go find her,” Dana returns Kate’s squeeze.</p><p>“Will you be okay with…”</p><p><em>With Max, </em>is the unsaid ending to Kate’s sentence. Will Dana be okay sitting alone – not counting Rachel, who still seems unlikely to get involved – with her tentative new girlfriend, silent, motionless, almost catatonic with worry for the girl she <em>really </em>loves.</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Dana lies through her teeth. “Go. She needs you.”</p><p>Kate gets up and walks off with a final, worried glance over her shoulder.</p><p>To keep her legs from getting too numb, Dana crosses the room to the vending machine. She briefly checks the coins in the shallow pocket of her shorts before reading the large white <em>OUT OF ORDER </em>sign taped to the machine and sighing. <em>Typical.</em> No sugary snacks for her tonight. Only as she returns to her seat does she realise she hasn’t yet been told to sit down or get out, and when she looks, she sees a new nurse has taken up a post at the front desk. She could almost kiss the ground in gratitude if it wasn’t covered by musty, scratchy carpet so faded it’s anyone’s guess what colour it originally was. The new arrival sets off the tiniest spark of hope that she might finally get some news, or at least not get spoken to like an idiot child. Summoning up every last ounce of maturity, she walks to the desk and clears her throat.</p><p>“Excuse me?” she says. The new nurse, a chubby woman with short reddish hair, looks up.</p><p>“Yes, miss?”</p><p>“I was just wondering if you might be able to tell me anything about my friend, Chloe Price? We brought her in…” she checks the clock, “almost two hours ago now. She had a head injury and we haven’t heard a thing.”</p><p>“Just give me a moment to check, please,” says the nurse.</p><p>If she had the energy, Dana would currently be doing completely inappropriate cartwheels across the waiting room. <em>Finally, </em>she’s getting somewhere.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the nurse says maybe thirty seconds later. “We’re not currently permitted to share any information about Miss Price.”</p><p>“Please,” Dana tries not to sound like she’s begging. She needs this. For Max.</p><p>“I’m afraid it’s hospital policy. We can’t share anything outside a patient’s family or other listed contacts. Since we haven’t been able to get hold of your friend’s mother, and her stepfather’s made it very clear he won’t have anything to do with her, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything.”</p><p>Dana doesn’t know Chloe’s stepfather, but she’d quite like to hit him. She thinks for a moment, comes up with something that might make the nurse budge. If she was the religious type, she’d be praying for this last gambit to work. <em>Pray for me, Kate, </em>she thinks as she leans over the desk and lowers her voice.</p><p>“Would you at least let my friend Max see her?” she says. “She’s…”</p><p>
  <em>Say it. For Max.</em>
</p><p>“She’s Chloe’s <em>girlfriend</em>.”</p><p>“I see,” says the nurse.</p><p>“So, I understand she might not be one of Chloe’s listed contacts, but please, if you can, would you let her see Chloe, or at least let her know what’s going on?”</p><p>Every word carries the same little sting, the guilt of lying and the painful uncertainty of not knowing whether she really is lying or not. <em>Suck it up, </em>she tells herself. <em>You think you’re having a bad night? Think you’re having to face up to stuff you didn’t want to think about? Deal with it. For Max.</em></p><p>“I’ll see what I can do,” says the nurse, picking up the phone. “Wait here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks again for reading. Next chapter...well, I already wrote it and uploaded it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Search and Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as she’s out of the waiting room, worry starts to prickle on the skin of Kate’s bare arms, her neck, the modest amount of pale chest exposed by the low neckline of this top Dana somehow talked her into wearing. <em>It’s cute, </em>she said last night, <em>and it’ll drive Victoria crazy. </em>At the time, driving Victoria crazy sounded appealing, and Kate had to admit, she’d had the thing in her closet for months without an occasion or the courage to wear it.</p><p>In this moment, she’s worried that Victoria might be going crazy in an entirely different and less fun way.</p><p>Her girlfriend’s not in the first bathroom she checks, closest to the waiting room. Either Victoria lied to her about her reason for leaving, which is unlikely – there are many, very uncomplimentary things that could be said about Victoria Chase, some of which Kate’s been guilty of thinking herself at times, but <em>liar </em>is not a word that can be truthfully applied to her – or she’s made a fairly big effort to put some distance between herself and the rest of the group. After what happened the last time she got close to Rachel, Kate could almost be grateful for that if she wasn’t currently in a state of panic over what might be going through Victoria’s head right now, wherever she is.</p><p>When the first bathroom turns out to be a Victoria-free environment, Kate resolves to check the rest. She’ll go through every single one in the building if she has to; her heart doesn’t exactly leap at the prospect, but it’s preferable to leaving her Tori alone. Kate clutches the little gold cross on her necklace, a long-standing habit of hers when she needs a little strength, or something makes her thankful, like the time she spent in this hospital and the familiarity it gave her with the layout of the place. It’s a strange thing to feel grateful for, but there you go.</p><p>There are four bathrooms on the first floor. Victoria is in none of them. In her desire to get away, she must have gone upstairs, so Kate will have to go after her, through the parts of the hospital normally restricted to staff and authorised visitors, of which Kate is neither. They wouldn’t even give her a pass at the desk. If somebody sees her and picks up on the fact she’s not supposed to be there, she might have to go back, without Victoria. She leans against the wall, closes her eyes and brings her right hand up to the cross around her neck again.</p><p>
  <em>Lord, if you’re listening, please don’t let me get caught.</em>
</p><p>Her mother would scold her if she knew Kate was praying that God might help her break rules like this, but her current mission is more important than any rules. And besides, what she’s doing right now, she’s doing for love.</p><p>Maybe her prayers have been answered. The hallways on the second floor of the hospital are almost empty. As she walks she crosses paths with a few doctors and nurses, but none of them seem to notice her lack of a visitor’s pass, and there are no security personnel in sight. Though the white floors and antiseptic sting in the air remind her of the lowest point of her life, she stays strong in the knowledge that God’s watching over her at this moment.</p><p>
  <em>Thank you, Lord.</em>
</p><p>She comes to the bathroom and closes her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to steel her nerves ahead of what she might find inside. Her own feelings can wait until she’s sure Victoria’s okay, or at least not alone. She opens the door, steps inside, takes a look around. No-one’s here. Judging by the cleanliness of the room, nobody’s been in this bathroom for a while. If Kate was one to swear, she’d be swearing now. Instead, she leaves the room without a word and keeps going. She has to. She makes a checklist in her head.</p><p>
  <em>First bathroom, second floor. Negative.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Second bathroom, second floor. Negative.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Third bathroom, second floor. Negative. Horrible mess. Tell a cleaner?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Tori, where are you?</em>
</p><p>Kate doesn’t get mad often. Annoyed, sometimes. Frustrated, definitely; when she can’t get something she’s drawing to match the image in her head correctly, or when silly little things happen that cut into the time she gets to herself. Anger, though, rarely pops into Kate’s head. Even before all the terrible, awful things that happened to her and Victoria – not forgetting all the others – the chaos and horror that changed them both and brought them into each other’s arms, she was just never an angry person.</p><p>Being without Victoria for this long, at a time like this, is pushing her towards that state. If they can get through tonight and whatever comes after without too much more pain, she might have some uncharacteristically cross words for the woman she loves.</p><p>
  <em>Second floor, fourth bathroom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please, Tori, be in this one.</em>
</p><p>Before going in, she touches her cross again. Not to pray – if Victoria’s not in here, a prayer won’t suddenly make her appear when she opens the door – but just as a little reassuring thing to keep those feelings from sinking their nasty claws too deep into her for the time being.</p><p>The door squeaks like it hasn’t seen regular use in a long while. Thinking about it, that doesn’t surprise Kate too much; tucked away in a corner of the second floor like this, she supposes not many people go into this particular bathroom. Maybe that was Victoria’s thought process, too, because it’s here that Kate finally finds her.</p><p>She’s in a bad way. Not physically, but everything about her posture screams <em>help</em>. Where she’s normally straight and upright, her height making her seem majestic or intimidating depending on the circumstances, she’s now almost bent double over a sink, gripping the basin with hysterical, white-knuckled force. Her head is lowered, face and eyes red and blotchy from crying.</p><p>“Hey,” Kate says, softly as she can. Walking up and putting a hand on Victoria without first announcing herself would be asking for trouble. She’s already seen her lash out once tonight. It’s not something she’d care to see again if she can avoid it. Victoria straightens up, wipes her eyes and clears her throat.</p><p>“H-hey,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. The smile she tries to flash fails instantly.</p><p>“Come here,” says Kate, wrapping her arms around Victoria’s waist.</p><p>Victoria buries her face in Kate’s shoulder and starts to sob. Kate’s reminded of being back in the waiting room as she rubs her girlfriend’s back, up and down with slow, steady motions, hoping that might calm her at least enough to talk a little, share what’s going on in her head or give up enough for Kate to figure out the rest.</p><p>“Don’t let go,” Victoria mumbles between sobs. “Don’t let go of me.”</p><p>“Never,” Kate assures her and seals it with a gentle kiss to the side of her head.</p><p>She holds her for a while longer, letting her cry without judgment or demand. It’s not the first time they’ve done this. Victoria puts up a front of icy strength in public, but behind closed doors or in trusted company, she lets that down, and if she needs to cry, scream, whatever, Kate’s there for her. Right now, that might be the single most important thing Kate can do, just being present and accepting. While tears run down the bare skin of her shoulder, while Victoria continues to shake and sob, she says nothing. Only when the worst of it seems to be over does she start testing the waters.</p><p>“Would you like to tell me?” she says. Kate can be subtle when she has to, but in this state there’s no sense in trying to coax anything out of Victoria. Best to be direct.</p><p>“W-what?” says Victoria, coming up off Kate’s shoulder at last. “Tell you what?”</p><p>“You know what, Tori,” Kate gives her waist a squeeze.</p><p>“I’m scared,” Victoria admits. “About Chloe. I…I w-was so mean to her at school, but I th-thought we could be friends for a while, th-then all th-that stuff happened w-with Max, and now she’s…”</p><p>She cries silently for a moment, and when she next speaks, her voice has a high, panicked edge to it. Her lips quiver and her eyes are wide and fearful.</p><p>“What if it was me?” she says. “What if I hit her and that’s why she’s…”</p><p>“You didn’t,” says Kate. “I saw what happened. She slipped and she hit her head on the ground. It wasn’t you.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” says Victoria.</p><p>
  <em>Not at all, but I’m hoping God will forgive me.</em>
</p><p>“I’m sure,” Kate says. It’s not <em>really </em>a lie. Just a slight fudging of the truth, done with only good intentions.</p><p>“Okay…” Victoria nods a little frantically, but Kate’s sure her eyes lighten just a shade as some of the fear and guilt leaves her face. She’s always liked Victoria’s eyes. In her opinion, they’re absolutely the loveliest part of Victoria Chase; so bright, so vibrant, so darn <em>green</em> it’s just unfairly easy to get lost in them, if you don’t have anything better to do. Unfortunately, Kate <em>does </em>have more pressing matters to attend to.</p><p>“So,” she fights the urge to take her hands off Victoria and touch her cross again to steel herself for what she has to say next, “would you like to tell me what that was about back at the barn?”</p><p>She doesn’t want to have to jog Victoria’s memory. Thankfully, it isn’t necessary. Victoria picks up on what she’s getting at instantly. Her face hardens.</p><p>“You heard what she said about you,” she says. “Do you think I’d just let anyone get away with talking to you like that?”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s it,” says Kate. Normally when people are rude to her and Victoria’s around to hear it, she jumps in with a few mean but well-observed remarks to silence them. Kate’s never sure if she should be grateful to her girlfriend for defending her or if she wishes Victoria would just let things go without the need for cattiness. She’s never seen Victoria hit another person before, though. It’s just not <em>her. </em>Now, Victoria sighs, sniffs and wipes away a stray tear.</p><p>“I suppose I should tell you,” she says. “Please, promise you won’t get mad at me?”</p><p>“Why would I get mad at you?”</p><p>“Because…” Victoria sighs deeply, “look, Kate, it was nothing serious, but before we met, a couple months before she ran away I…I kind of had a thing with Rachel.”</p><p>“Oh,” Kate says. A rare pang of jealousy settles in her stomach; she knows Victoria’s been with other people, of course, but she doesn’t talk about them. Hearing her say it brings up feelings Kate’s never really known before.</p><p>“It was just a few dates, but…I don’t know if you’ve heard how she used to be, but she had a way of making you feel special, and I…” she sniffs again, “I guess for a little while I maybe thought I was in love. I was stupid, but when she left, it really messed me up. I was…I was so angry, Kate, and seeing her like that, acting like nothing was different…”</p><p>Kate stands up on her toes and kisses Victoria’s lips as they start to tremble again.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Well, um…maybe I’m not crazy about it, but, well, it happened and neither of us can change it, so…”</p><p>She trails off. That little snippet is about all she can say for the moment. If they were alone, in her room or Victoria’s, she might find the courage to discuss her own feelings a bit more. But here, with the risk of being interrupted even in this lonely little room, she knows if she goes much further she’ll turn into a stuttering, red-faced wreck, and that’s not what Victoria needs.</p><p>“Mm,” Victoria nods, biting her bottom lip for a moment before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on Kate’s forehead, a weak spot she knows well. The effect is instant; in spite of herself and the moment, Kate smiles and nuzzles under Victoria’s chin. They hold each other in silence for a few minutes, until leaning against the sink behind her gets too uncomfortable for Victoria. Only then do they reluctantly let go of each other and step away.</p><p>“Do you think you might come back downstairs?” Kate ventures to ask, taking her hand.</p><p>“I…I don’t really want to,” Victoria admits. Her gaze drops to the floor.</p><p>“Me neither,” Kate squeezes her hand, “but I really think we should, and I’m not leaving without you.”</p><p>She purposely adds some firmness into her voice for that, a small bit of steel that draws a smile on Victoria’s face and puts a spark in those beautiful green eyes.</p><p>“You promise?” Victoria says, putting on a high-pitched, whiny tone. Kate can’t help but giggle.</p><p>“Promise,” she smiles and steps in to kiss her again.</p><p>Going back to the waiting room probably won’t be a pleasant experience, unless something completely magical and unforeseen happened in their absence. But as long as they’re together, Kate’s confident that they can get through the worst life has to offer. They’ve done it before, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Woooooo double update.</p><p>The next chapter, sorry, will be nowhere near as quick to follow as this one was. Hoping it won't be too long, though. I think we're getting towards the end of the story now, so it's as good a time as any to thank everyone who's read, liked, commented and helped me out with this. Buckle up, kids.</p><p>Thanks again for reading, I'll see you all soon.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed. More to come if I can actually overcome my crippling fear of failure/success/everything and keep writing. All, or at least some, will be revealed in due course (I hope). Thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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